


all shades, all hues, all blue

by writtenrevolution



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Author demonstrates a minimal amount of knowledge regarding American politics, Despite being an American, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Heavy on the politics, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Lowkey Glove kink?, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Praise Kink, Romangst, Seeing Colour for the first time, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, in which everyone is at least a little gay for washington, old fashion politics in a modern setting, see notes for additional tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2020-10-30 02:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 140,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenrevolution/pseuds/writtenrevolution
Summary: The first thirty-two years of Alexander's life are a monotonous montage of black, white, and shades of grey. He's all but declared that he'll never see colour, that is until he does.Or the one where you can only see the colour of objects your soulmate has touched.





	1. the prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Well y'all, I'm back, and I've come swinging. Prepare yourselves for a nice long fic filled with confusion, pining, and a whole lot of feelings. 
> 
> Once again, I won't say I have a schedule, because by now (if you've read any of my multichaptered fics) you probably know that I can never stick to it. I have a rough outline, so hopefully you won't be waiting too long, but I don't want to make promises I can't keep. However, please know that I'll never leave an unfinished fic. So whether it takes me weeks or decades, this fic will be finished. 
> 
> Title comes from All Blues by John Coltrane and Miles Davis. I don't own the characters (obviously?) or the song. 
> 
> Let me know what you think?? (Also sometimes it's spelled colour and sometimes it's spelled color. Forgive me I cannot be consistent to save my life)

The first thirty-two years of his life are monotonously plain. He spends each day in a constant barade of black, white, and thirty different shades of grey. His mother had explained it to him as a child, told him that one day the world would alight with color and he would just know. 

_ “Everyone in this world has a soulmate, Alexander. You don’t know who your soulmate is yet, but one day you might be walking down the street and you notice that a sign that used to be grey is now a bright gold.” She had said with a fairaway smile. _

_ “What’s gold?” _

_ “It’s a colour, Alex. The point is that whatever your soulmate touches you will be able to see the true colour of.” _

_ He had thought this over for a long moment,“But what about the things they can’t touch? Like the sun or the sky?” _

_ His mother’s smile was gentle as she brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, “When you kiss your soulmate for the first time, everything will become full of colour. The sun will turn yellow, and the sky blue.” _

_ “But before I kiss them?” _

_ “Then you only see the true colour of the objects they have touched with their hands. The only exception is their own body. Until you kiss, their hair and skin and eyes will remain colourless too.” _

_"That doesn't seem fair, Ma." He had replied with a frown._

_"I know, my love, but when you see colour for the first time, it's all worth it. I promise."_

He wants to blame someone, but the truth is there is no one to blame. It’s not his fault, for Alex’s eyes keep moving constantly, hoping that one day there will be a flash of color he hasn’t seen before. It’s not his soulmate’s fault either. Maybe they don’t live in the states, maybe they too are searching for the color of the things he’s touched, hell - maybe they’re dead. 

The only thing that can be blamed, even remotely, is the universe itself, and Alexander is cynical, but not that cynical. So he collects himself, tells himself “it’ll happen when it’s supposed to", listens to Lafayette write sonnets about the colour of Washington’s eyes, and moves on with his life in black and white. 

This is how he spends his first thirty-two years. 

Working for Washington is good. It’s a good job, one that Alexander considers himself lucky for having. The paycheck is more than he’s used to receiving, and he spends each day doing something that matters. 

And then Washington hires Jefferson. 

He hadn’t known what to expect. Of course, he had heard of Thomas Jefferson before. He was the writer of the Declaration, the first ambassador to France, the person who salvaged the colonies and declared them as a united state. But that didn’t prepare him for the whirlwind of douchiness that is Thomas Jefferson. 

Washington had warned him the day before Jefferson’s arrival in DC, “Please don’t purposely piss him off, Alexander.” And from those words alone, Alex had expected the guy to be a little touchy. But, as he sits in the cabinet meeting listening to Jefferson rant and rave about the superiority of the south, he didn’t quite expect this. 

When it becomes evident that the man isn’t going to shut up or make a valid point anytime soon, Alexander sort of zones out. He studies the man in front of him, the vibrant white of his suit, the black cane propped beside him, the grey gloves that Alexander has never seen him go without. The gloves in particular have his interest peaked. He had been wearing them when he stepped out of the cab in front of the White House, he had worn them when he shook hands with Alex for the first time, and he’s yet to take them off since. It’s 73 degrees in the office they’re meeting in, and yet the gloves have not vanished. 

It’s strange. 

He supposes that it could be a germ thing. Thomas does seem like the kind of person to be anal about the things he touches. Or, he wonders, perhaps it’s a self conscious thing. Alex personally has never been self conscious about the size or shape of his hands, but Jefferson seems just weird enough to be. His last theory is soulmates. He doesn’t know why Jefferson wouldn’t want his soulmate to know who he is. Perhaps it’s an unrequited thing. For all intent and purposes, Jefferson and Madison seem pretty close. Perhaps Madison isn’t his soulmate, and they’ve chosen to forgo the whole idea and decide a fate of their own. 

Well, Alex thinks, that’s something he can respect. 

By the end of the meeting, Alexander is aching with the need to write. He has words upon words spiraling in his head, and the thought of not getting them out, not getting them written is driving him insane. When Washington dismisses them with a nod, he hurries to gather his supplies and make his way back to his office where he can lock himself away until the need to write has diminished for the day. 

It’s as he’s making his way back to his office that he sees it. From out of the corner of his eye, Alexander sees the reflection of a color that is definitely not in his usual spectrum. His eyes lock on the door handle immediately, and he stops in his tracks. An intern runs into his back, almost spilling the coffee in her hand, and Alex mumbles a half assed apology, unable to take his eyes off the gold door knob. 

The look she gives him is one of intense fear, and as she scoots around him with an apology of her own, Alex recalls the rumours spreading through the office about him. About how rude and terrible he is. Any other day he might call her back, apologize honestly and explain that, no, he is not actually the devil incarnate. 

But today is not that day. 

He waits until the hallway clears around him, and drops to his knees in front of the door. The gold gleams in the white light from above, and Alexander reaches out with shaky hands to run his fingers across the metal. He doesn’t know how he knows the name of the color, consider he could never learn them in elementary, but as he looks at the gleam of the handle, Alexander knows without a doubt that this is the colour his mom was talking about. This is the colour of gold. 

This is the colour of the mineral that people left their homes in search of, the colour that people fought wars over, killed over. 

Nothing else in the hallway is splashed in colour, so Alexander pushes open the door and steps inside the supply closet. It’s spacious, about the size of his bathroom at home, and the white light from above illuminates the room in shades of grey. He searches everywhere, looks for a single item that isn’t cloaked in the monotonous spectrum of his day to day life, and finds nothing. 

Disappointed, he sits down on a box of files in the middle of the room and buries his head in his hands, trying to come up with a game plan. 

The first, and most pressing matter, is that his soulmate works with him. They’re on the third floor, which means clearance is high enough that no tourists are allowed, which means that whoever he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life with works here. Considering this is the main supply closet for the entire staff, that leaves the possibility open to approximately 500 to 700 people. He wants to be disappointed that there’s still so many possible candidates, but on the flip size he’s narrowed it down from 7 billion to a measly couple of hundred. 

The only problem is that it could be literally anyone. It could be someone who passed by and bumped into the handle, it could be an intern searching for the right room, it could be a seasoned staff member who forgot what they were looking for and left the room without touching a single thing. He considers that for a moment. Considering this is the first object in colour that he’s seen, he rules out anyone working directly under Washington. He spends enough time with the cabinet and staff, that he would have noticed the colours of the objects they’ve touched. Which means it’s probably someone new or someone he doesn’t work directly with. 

Trying to narrow down the people he doesn’t quite work with is going to be an impossible feat, and just the thought is enough to give Alexander a headache. He leaves the room, pulling the gold handle on his way out. The door clicks behind him and Alexander walks back to his office. He’ll just have to keep an eye out, make sure he’s not too caught up in his own head that he’ll miss another colour. He’s only had a taste, only the smallest fraction of the possibilities, but he already craves more. 

Alexander rounds the hallway into his office, and stops short when he sees a man standing in front of his desk. A second later, he recognizes him as Jefferson. The blinding white suit is a pretty good indicator, and when the door shuts behind him and Jefferson turns to flash him an annoyed smile, Alexander wants to groan. 

“I was wondering if you were ever going to return from licking your own wounds.”

Alex ignores him, pushing off the door and making his way around the desk to sit in his chair. Jefferson’s holding a picture of Alex and Lafayette from college - the two of them smiling happily and tipsy at the camera - in his glove covered hands. He’s dying to ask about them, but keeps his words to himself. 

“Can I help you with something?” He asks, pulling the picture frame from Jefferson’s hands and placing it back on his desk. His voice is measured, because he really doesn’t want to worsen the tension between them. When he looks back at Jefferson, the man’s paying no mind to him, his eyes are looking around the office, as if he’s soaking it in. 

“Jefferson?” Alex barks. 

“Sorry, your shitty office was distracting me.” Jefferson replies with a sneer, “I just wanted to tell you that you’re finance resolution will never pass, James and I will make sure of it.”

“Well thank you for coming all the way down here to tell me that.”

He has a feeling that wasn’t the only reason Jefferson dropped by. “Anything else, Mr. Jefferson?”

The man gives him a pleased smile and shakes his head, “No, Hamilton.” He somehow makes the word sound like an insult, “That’s all.”

And then he’s turning, leaving the office without a single look backwards. Hamilton lets him go, watches the way his shoulders move under the painfully white suit he’s wearing, and wonders what colour it actually is. 

The rest of the day passes with ease, and Alexander easily finds himself caught up in the memo he’s typing. It’s long, much longer than any memo should be, but now that Jefferson and Madison seem content to sit around and call him out on the smallest error, Alex takes special care to make sure it’s precise and not a single word can be misinterpreted. 

He doesn’t end up leaving until twenty after eleven. The secretary outside gives him a disapproving look as he locks his office behind him, and he knows that she’s, no doubt, typing an email to Washington at the very moment informing him of Alex’s too long work day. He walks down the now quiet hallway alone, and passes by the supply office. He can’t help but stare at the golden handle as he walks by, his eyes catching every speak and gleam of the light. 

He walks faster, not wanting to get caught by the secretary, and hits the down button on the elevator. It whirls above him and a second later the doors ding and open. Alex steps in the - thankfully - empty elevator and presses the button for floor 1. It’s not even a second later that he notices it. 

Whereas the button is usually a bright grey that signals it’s been pushed, it’s now a deep yellow. Alexander stares at in, his jaw falling open just a little, as he takes in the beautiful colour. It’s deep and rich, bordering something that doesn’t seem quite yellow. It almost rivals gold in its shade, but Alex supposes there is probably another colour it’s similar to, one he hasn’t seen yet. 

The doors ding and open in front of him, and the light flickers back to black. He takes a deep breath and steps onto the main floor of the White House. His throat feels tight, and he’s tempted to get back in the elevator just to see that colour again. 

Instead, he pulls his phone from his pocket and sends a quick text. 

_ To: Group Chat - John Laurens & Lafayette _

_ Alex (11:26PM): Want to meet at Rocky’s? I need a drink. _

The replies come before he even makes it to his car. 

_ From: Group Chat - John Laurens & Lafayette _

_ John Laurens (11:28PM): Obviously _

_ Lafayette (11:29PM): Meet you there in 10. _


	2. a solid foundation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all! I'm back with chapter two (cheers for myself in the background). I finally decided to sit down and force this chapter out, as well as a rough (and i mean rough) outline for this fic. That being said, you can expect the next chapter, uh, eventually? I'm very bad at knowing my own schedule so i apologize in advance. 
> 
> Love it? Hate it? Indifferent? I want to know! Comments are the fuel that keeps my fingers moving across the keyboard.
> 
> (warning for mention of suicide. But like in a "if Jefferson's my soulmate, im going to kill myself" kind of way)

Rocky’s is packed. There are people everywhere Alexander looks. Stretched across the too small dancefloor, grinding to the quick music, lining the walls, and filling the bar and open tables. The lights are dimmed, as always, and the bar is dark and smokey. The room smells like expensive shots and sweat, a smell that Alexander has long since come to fondly associate with this particular establishment. It’s not necessarily a dive bar, considering that it’s one of the closest bars to the White House and the staff members make up at least half of Rocky’s sales, but it’s not the high class kind of place you’d expect to find the Secretary of the Treasury. 

But Rocky’s has been a steady foundation in his climb to the top. It was where he first met John and Lafayette years ago, where they had introduced him to Hercules, where he had first met Angelica. Where Angelica had first grabbed his arm, pulled him across the dance floor and introduced him to Eliza. It was the bar he frequented when he was Senator Washington’s intern. It was here that he found out that Washington was running for president. And it was here, in this dim lit catastrophe of a bar, that they had celebrated when Alex had accepted Washington’s offer to be his Secretary of the Treasury. 

So, yeah, he had a soft spot for this place. 

Given the current condition of the bar, it’s relatively easy for him to find John and Lafayette. There in the back, crowded in a small booth - the same booth they’ve been sitting in since Alex first met them. Anna, the owner, would deny it if they asked, but Alex knows she saves the booth for them when the night rush comes in. 

Lafayette’s laugh is the first thing he hears. It’s loud, bright and cuts clear through the thump of base and the grinding mass of bodies. John's response is more subtle, but completely in character. 

“Shut the fuck up, whore.”

Alex drops next to Lafayette and lets out an indignant huff. He rests his head on Lafayette’s shoulder and pouts. “Don’t speak to my baby like that.”

John huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes, “You wouldn’t be defending him if you heard what God awful shit came out of his mouth.”

Lafayette, for the most part, ignores John’s words completely. His smile has grown a million watts, and his arms easily find their place around Alex’s shoulders as he pulls him into a bone crushing hug. 

“Alex, _ mon ami, _ it’s about time! I was getting worried about you.”

“I’m early,” He replies, unimpressed, but returning the hug nonetheless. Lafayette is a hard line against his body, spelling of coconut and lavender - no doubt thanks to the hundred different kinds of products he uses. It smells comforting, and like home. 

“Your text sounded, uh, how you say agitated. Is everything alright?” Lafayette asks, his smile dipping just a fraction at Alex’s hesitation to reply. 

“Dude, work that bad?” John asks, nudging his drink towards Alex. It’s dark, rolling around in a glass tumblr, and Alex drains it without a second thought. 

Lafayette’s concerned expression grows, and John simply raises an eyebrow. 

“Let me get some drinks in me and then we can start in on the therapy session.”

His friends say nothing, and when John leaves to get a round of shots, Alex lets his head fall back against the booth. Within every inch of his body, there is the pulsating desire - this temptatious craving - to return to the White House at once. To sit in that hallway and stare at the Godforsaken doorknob. He wants to study it, to examine every inch of it - as if it can tell him who touched it, who infused it with a colour so beautiful and rich and filling. He could sit there for hours, no doubt, intense and relaxed, just looking at it. 

But that’s insane. He’s not going to return to his place of employment, buzzed off the bar atmosphere and half a jack and coke to stare at a damn doorknob. 

In all honesty, this was what Alexander was afraid of. He knows himself better than anyone. He knows how intense he can get, how shortsighted and focused he becomes, how obsessive. And while he was looking forward to the first time he saw colour, to the first time he knew for sure he had a soulmate, there was a small part of him that was dreading him. Because Alexander knew who he was. He knew that the moment he saw a colour for the first time, it would be all consuming. He knew the moment he saw something other than the black and the white and the grey, he would become overwhelmed with the urge to know more.

And it wasn’t too bad yet. He wasn’t completely distracted by the desire, the need, to see more and to know more, but he could feel it creeping into his bones slowly. He could feel the way it danced across his skin, begging and pleading for just a taste more. And Alex wanted it. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know what John’s favourite color, green, looked like. What red was so he could understand Lafayette’s constant obsession with it. And he wanted to know what purple was. The colour of his mom’s birthstone. 

But above all else, above thoughts of the colour of the sky and the colour of the ocean, Alexander wanted to know who it was that would give him such a gift. To know who he was meant to spend the rest of his days with. Who was going to transform his life from this grey monotonous cycle into something new, into something transformed, something reborn. 

“It is more than work on your mind then, _mon ami_?” Lafayette asks with a small frown, his accent coming out harsher due to the alcohol on his breath. 

“Yeah, it’s more than work.” 

Lafayette hums considering, “Well, first we drink and then we chat.” 

It’s only a moment later that a tray of shots is slapped down in front of them, and John falls back into his usual seat. 

“Jesus fuck, it’s a mess in here. Too many damn people.” 

“Language, _mon ami_,” Lafayette warns and John grins at him, “Did you seriously have to get shots that were all green? You know I despise the colour.” 

Alexander lifts a glass from the tray and glares into the liquid like it had just insulted his mother. It slushes against the glass, a soft grey that parallels the grass outside. Is grass green, then? 

“It’s not my fault you won’t tell me your favourite colour!” John protests. 

Without a second thought he drowns the offending liquid and chokes on it. It tastes like ass, mixed with sandpaper. 

“I don’t have a favourite one, John. I just have one I don’t like.”

“Come on, everyone has a favourite colour!” John says, and as soon as the words leave his lips, he flinches and casts an apologetic glance in Alex’s direction. 

“I think mine’s gold.” He says offhandedly, keeping his eyes on the table. Best to just get it over with then. “I mean, I don’t really know considering I haven’t seen them all. But at the moment, I’d say mine is gold.”

It takes them a moment. Alex watches as they trade confused looks. The table is silent for a long moment, and the only thing Alexander can hear is the pounding in his own ears, and then after a beat Lafayette speaks. 

“_La couleur _?” He says, “Mon Dieu, Alexander you’ve seen them?”

He nods once, sharp and stilled. 

“_Mon Dieu _ ! Alexander! _ Mon ami _ , you’ve met your soulmate! _ Mon Dieu_, I don’t know what else to say, for once the Great _ Marquis _ is at a loss for words. _ Mon ami_, I am so happy for you!”

Lafayette’s exuberance is met with John’s much more composed loose smile, “You know who it is yet?”

“Not yet.” He responds, feeling his own smile growing with their excitement, “I don’t know if I’ll ever even put it together.”

“Well you saw something, right? Where at?” John asks, scooting closer to the table as he downs another shot. Lafayette follows suit. 

“The White House. One of the third floor supply closet door handles. And then when I got into the elevator, one of the elevator buttons lit up a yellow colour. Well, I think it was yellow. It was dark, like it was almost another colour.”

“_Orange _,” Lafayette says without missing a beat, “The elevator buttons are yellow, but they’re so dark you could almost say they’re orange.”

Orange. The colour of the fruit. Interesting. 

“So it could be anyone?” John interrupts, “I mean, how many people could have used that closet?”

“Third floor rules out any tourists, thank God.” Alex answers, “But it could pretty much be anyone else. I think if it was someone else in the cabinet, I’d have seen something else by now. Unless they cut off their hands or something.”

“Or unless they always keep them covered.” Lafayette says, his eyes focused past Alexander in the direction of the bar. 

Alexander turns, his gaze immediately catching on the sparkling white suit leaning against the bar. He watches as a glass of what he thinks is wine, grasped in a grey gloved hand, is picked off the bar. He recognizes the suit and the gloves, and when the man turns around, Alex is not surprised. 

It’s Jefferson, Madison - the ever adoring pet - not two steps from him, because apparently God fucking hates him. 

“God, it’s like I can’t fucking get away from him.” He groans, picking up two shots and throwing them back without a reprise between them. It’s harsh on his throat, but he’d take the burn in his throat over talking about Jefferson any day. 

“Have you considered that it might be him?” John asks, Lafayette’s eyebrows raising in agreement, and Alex snorts a laugh. 

“I’d shoot myself.”

Neither of them look impressed. 

“No, I’m serious. I’d literally eat a bu-”

“We get it,” John interrupts him, and Alex grins. 

He looks back over at Jefferson, who’s now sitting in two open stools at the bar. He looks so distinctly out of place with his meticulously pressed suit and those gloves that, no doubt, cost more than Alex makes in a month. His posture is loose for once, and he looks more relaxed than Alex has ever seen him. It’s a bizarre sight to see. For once, he doesn’t look like he’s on the prowl, waiting for Alex to slip up so he can chew him to bits. He, somehow, both looks out of place and like he’s never belonged somewhere as much as he belongs here. 

But there’s no way Jefferson could be his soulmate. First off, he’s fucking hideous. Okay, well, Alexander isn’t blind. He can admit that, maybe if he squints a little, Jefferson is sort of attractive. He’s got a nice body, that’s for sure. Legs for miles that meet at a sharp curve along his backside, a firm back, and his arms are, decent. Too bulging for Alex’s taste. He prefers men that don’t look like their arms are about to bust the sleeves of their suit jackets. But, not the point. Jefferson’s physical looks aren’t terrible, but God, his personality is utter shit. And Alex isn’t shallow enough that he’d throw away all of his taste in morals and standards for someone that probably isn’t even that good in the sack. Like, come on, the man’s obviously overcompensating for something. 

And besides, it’s not like precious Jefferson would dare take off his gloves and touch a doorknob! Imagine the amount of plebian germs on such a thing. If he touched it, his bank account would probably drop to zero and he’d be forced to sell one of his - no doubt - many mansions just to buy another pair of Givenchy satin gloves. 

The thought makes him snort. He doesn’t actually know what kind of gloves Jefferson wears, but as he looks as subtle as he can, they look expensive. Grey or not, he definitely paid a shit ton for them. 

“For a man that hates Thomas so much, you sure do stare a lot, Alex.” Lafayette says next to him, and Alex whips his head back around so quickly that he’s left lightheaded. 

“Why Laf, I think our little Alex has a crush!”

“Shut up, assholes,” Alex says with a roll of his eyes. The alcohol is undeniably starting to kick in. The world tilts a little to the left and Alex blinks a few times to get his bearings. “I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with him.”

He looks back at Jefferson, “I mean, seriously, what the hell is with the gloves? Is he trying to be a pretentious asshole, because he definitely doesn’t need the gloves for that.”

“If you’re so curious about why he wears gloves, maybe you could, _ Je ne sais pas_, ask him?”

“No thanks,” He says around a snort, “Not tryna get my ass chewed tonight.”

Lafayette winks at that, an over exaggerated thing that makes him groan, “Well if you won’t talk to him, at least go get us another round?”

“Or two?” John chimes in. 

“Are you serious?” He bemoans, “I don’t want to move.”

“You were here last, this rounds on you. And besides, you’re closest to the bar.” John tells him, taking the opportunity to scoot closer to the insider corner, effectively making him - yup - the closest one to the bar. 

“Get some shots that are pink this time, would you, _ mon amour_?”

He rolls his eyes, but manages to drag himself out of the booth. It’s a quick walk to the bar, thankfully he notes, as his legs give way a little. 

There’s only one open stool on this side of the bar, and as much as he doesn’t want to sit next to Jefferson, Alex doesn’t think his legs will make it around to the other side. He drops down into the seat next to him and smiles to the bartender. Anna doesn’t seem to be here tonight, but the grin Caleb gives him is enough to make his night a little better. 

“What’ll it be, Hammie?”

Alex rolls his eyes at the nickname, watches from his peripheral as Jefferson’s spine immediately straightens and his eyes stay forward, like he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t know who’s next to him. 

“Just give me some shots. Don't care what, as long as they're pink."

“Can do. Give me just a minute.”

His eyes find Madison’s as soon as Caleb walks away, and the man actually smiles at him. It’s not a great smile, more like the stilled showing of his teeth, like he's never actually smiled before and only read about it in books. Still, Alex can appreciate the effort. 

“Madison,” He says as a greeting. 

“Hamilton.” The man responds, and Alex sees Jefferson roll his eyes, “Should have figured you’d be here.”

“Maybe you could have informed me of that before I agreed to come,” Jefferson hisses under his breath, but Alex hears it easily over the sound of the music. 

“Come on, Tommy,” He says with a grin, “Don’t be like that.”

“Please leave me the fuck alone.”

Alex’s smile only grows wider, and he puts on his best impression of a Southern grandma, “Come on, _ sugga_, don’t be like that.” 

Jefferson’s returning glare is too much for his inebriated brain, and Alex can’t help the snort that literally forces its way from his mouth. His hand brushes against the smooth fabric of Jefferson’s white suit, and he watches as the man freezes. He was annoyed before, but now he looks more defeated than anything else. 

Alex watches as Jefferson’s eyes dart down to where Alex had brushed against him. His lips press together as he looks down at his own shirt in disgust. 

“Don’t touch me.”

“Yesh,” Alex says, his grin still in place, although the fun has mostly been bleed from the situation, “Someone’s touchy.”

Before Jefferson can reply, Caleb drops a tray full of six shot glasses in front of him. He studies the liquid in the glasses, trying to remember what shade the grey had looked like when the shots were green. As best as he can remember it looks the exact same colour as the ‘pink’ shots he has now. 

He pushes the tray a little closer to Jefferson, raising his eyebrows. “These pink?”

Jefferson looks at the shot glasses, and then his grey eyes flicker to Alex’s. “I don’t know.”

“Yes Hamilton,” Madison answers, “They’re pink.”

Interesting. So Madison and Jefferson weren’t soulmates then, and Madison had met his. 

But Jefferson hadn’t. 

He almost rolls his eyes at that, but refrains. 

“Thanks man.” He says to Madison, making no effort to say goodbye to Jefferson as he lifts the tray from the bar. It’s as he’s leaving that he hears Jefferson’s hiss from behind him. 

“A ruined fucking jacket.”

Madison hums beside him. 

Alex makes it back to his table, dropping the tray on top of the old one. 

“Yay, they’re pink.” Lafayette says with a grin, clinking a glass against the table before tipping it into his mouth. 

Alexander grabs one for himself, studying the grey liquid as it sits still in his hand. 

_Pink_. He wonders what it looks like. 

He looks back at the bar, sees Jefferson shoulder off his white suit jacket and drap it across the chair at the table behind him. 

Alexander drains the shot. 

When they leave two hours later, Jefferson and Madison long gone, that pristine white suit jacket is still draped across the chair where it had been placed before.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't let the colour fool you. Pink shots are lethal.
> 
> y'all got any guesses about what's gonna happen? I want to hear them!! It might inspire me,,


	3. a course of (ir)rational thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm back with another chapter for your entertainment. I finally finished a rough outline for this bad boy, and it's looking to be around 20 chapters, so hang on for a wild ride. 
> 
> Quick warning: despite being an American, I have absolutely no idea how the executive branch functions in terms of the cabinet and budgeting. That being said, I looked up annual budgets to get some approximate numbers. So, considering my lack of knowledge, just know its fiction- all plot based. I have literally no idea what the treasury department does. 
> 
> Without further ado,

And so it goes. 

Each day is like the rest. Alexander drags himself out of bed, into some semblance of professional work attire, and gets to work before anyone else is even awake. 

He’s sitting at his desk, buried in a pile of proposals from the staff, trying to figure out how the fuck he’s going to jusitfy budgeting 15 million for public transport posters. He has no doubt that the second they get hung up across the country, their esteemed President’s face will be vandalized. Alex has sent at least a dozen emails to Washington, begging him to get a new head of Public Relations. He’s about three seconds away from going down to the first floor and bitching Charles Lee out, when there’s a knock on his door. 

“Mr. Secretary?” Maria asks from outside his door. She was technically his assistant, although her job mostly consisted of keeping his coffee supplied and reminding him to take a break occasionally. 

“Yes Mrs. Reynolds?” He asks, not looking up from the papers in front of his desk. There was too much to do, and not nearly enough time to do it. 

“Just wanted to remind you about the cabinet meeting. It’s in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes, barely enough time to make it to the second floor conference room. 

“Okay,” Alexander replies, restacking the proposals into a pathetic pile at the edge of his desk, and retrieving his laptop. “Did the memo say what it was about? Or who was in attendance?”

“No, sir.” She tells him, “I have it on good authority that Secretaries Knox and Greene are in Phoenix at the moment, so I don’t believe they’ll be there.”

If Greene and Knox are both out of state, that leaves him with Washington, Lee, Monroe, Adams and _ fucking _ Jefferson. The thought makes him want to jump out of his window. The reminder of Jefferson serves only to remind him of the pristine white jacket that’s hanging in the closet next to his desk. He doesn’t know why he grabbed it on the way out of the bar that night so many weeks ago. He doesn’t know why he still has it, or why he hasn’t given it back yet. 

So it sits there. 

“Thank you, Maria,” He tells her on his way out of his office. “I’ll send you an email with the meeting notes, please forward them to Greene and Knox.”

“Of course, Mr. Secretary. I’ll have aspirin and coffee waiting for you when you get back.”

His fingers run along the length of her desk, and Alex forces himself to smile in response. “Thank you, I would have died long ago without you.”

Her answering grin makes it clear that she’s well aware of it. 

The ride down the elevator is quick. Thankfully, nobody gets on with him. He’s usually a nice guy, but the lack of coffee he’s had today added to the stress of a meeting with Jefferson has him in a distant mood. He doesn’t want to see anyone, doesn’t want to make small talk.

Alex gets off at the second floor, and makes it two steps before he stops in his tracks. The colour is so muted, that he almost didn’t notice it at first. His eyes had skimmed past and then darted back so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. There’s a picture frame on the side corridor, and whereas the frame had once been a muted white, its been replaced by brown. He steps up to the wall, running his eyes along the length of it. 

He hasn’t seen many colours so far, only three as of now, but he has to admit that brown isn’t much to look at. Of course, it’s better than the spectrum of grey he’s used to, but not by much. It’s muted, not bright in any way like the gold had been, and it’s not even as noticeable as the yellow of the elevator button. Still, he thinks, it’s something. Alex stands there for a moment, just looking at it. There’s a thought forcing its way to the forefront of his mind, one he doesn’t want to think about. Three different colours, three different places, all random and giving him no insight into who his soulmate might be. 

It occurs to him, suddenly and without thought for his own sanity, that his soulmate must know who he is, and decided to - for whatever reason - fuck with him. As much as Alexander hates to admit it, it makes sense. Why else would they not come straight to him and tell him they were meant to be together? Alex makes no conscience decision to touch objects, but he hasn’t refrained from doing so. There’s no way his soulmate works in the White House and hasn’t seen the colour of all the objects Alexander has touched along the way. So, he wonders, why the games? Why not just fucking tell him?

In his course of rational thought, he comes to the startling conclusion that maybe his soulmate doesn’t want Alex to know they are soulmates. Maybe whoever it is knows Alex, and maybe they don’t want to be his soulmate. The thought sends a burning wave of hurt through his chest. He knows he’s not much to look at, argumentative, and not easy to get along with, but this was his soulmate. This was his perfect match, and if they had decided - without giving him a chance - to dismiss him like nothing, then there was nothing Alexander could do about it. It would be almost impossible to track them down, especially if they were purposely hiding. 

The dismissal from his soulmate, whether real or fictional, sours his mood even more. His phone buzzes in his pocket, no doubt a universal sign to get his shit together. He checks his watch. 

“Fuck,” Slips from his mouth. He’s late. 

He takes two more seconds to stare at the frame, and then gathers his bearings enough to continue on. He decides, as he steps foot into the conference room, that he’ll think about it later. No sense in getting worked up at the moment. Right now, he has more pressing things to take care of. Alex sits down in his normal seat, to the President’s right and across from Jefferson. 

“Nice of you to finally join us, Hamilton.” Jefferson bites, his words frosty. 

Alex doesn’t reply, just keeps eye contact and raises his middle finger. He thinks he sees a hint of amusement on Jefferson’s lips, but doesn’t read into it. 

As his laptop whirls to life, Alexander takes the opportunity to study the man in front of him. His outfit is the usual spectrum of grey, but his usual grey gloves have been replaced by a pair of white ones. They contrast against the dark grey of his suit in a way that Alexander can admit looks nice. For once, his gloves don’t seem to be a hindrance to his outfit, but instead serve to complement it. 

But, still, Alexander doesn’t get it. Why in the hell does he wear gloves? It just doesn’t make sense to him. But despite his increasing curiosity, Alexander can’t bring himself to ask. First off, he knows it’s none of his business. He doesn’t have many moral guidelines about what shouldn’t be talked about, but the gloves affect him in no way. Secondly, it’s not like Jefferson would actually tell him if he asked. He’d probably scoff, those shimmeringly grey eyes rolling like Alexander had said something stupid, and then he’d probably mock him, insult him, and Alex would be left at square one. There was no upside to asking, so he figured it was best to leave him alone. But, perhaps, there was a roundabout way of finding out. 

He’ll have to add gossip about Jefferson to his planner. 

“Okay, now that we’re all here, we can begin.” Washington says from the head of the room. He’s dressed in a charming black suit, and he passes out a series of stapled papers. “We’ll be discussing the budget set out by the Treasury for this fiscal year. Secretary Hamilton, you have the floor.”

Alexander shoots a smile in Washington’s direction. Without Greene and Knox present, he’s left with a cabinet made up almost entirely of people that can’t stand him. He cracks his knuckles and stands up from his seat, making no move to the front of the room. He can speak fine from here, and it’s better to have his notes in front of him. 

“The fiscal budget this year is similar to last year’s. The numbers from the 2017-2018 year are printed in the pamphlets in front of you, and a copy will be emailed at the conclusion of this meeting. However, there are a few changes I’d like to go over. First off, Secretary Monroe has requested an extra 3 billion dollars for Homeland’s new cyber security project, and given the projected increase of cyber crime, I have approved this offer. That raises Homeland Security’s annual budget to $50.7 billion.”

“Thank you, Secretary Hamilton.” Monroe says, and Alexander is somehow always surprised that he can make the honorific sound like an insult. Alex smiles, nonetheless, and tells himself it’s nothing personal. 

“Secondly, Secretary Lee has requested an additional 15 million for a new public relations project, a request in which I have denied.” He hears a huff from the corner of the room, and narrows his eyes at Lee, “But, one in which I have lessened in order to accept. That makes the Presidential Reelection Campaign fund 30 million dollars.”

Lee offers his no thanks, and Alexander is glad. He didn’t think he’d be able to control his tongue if Lee had. 

“Secretary Greene requested no additional funds for this fiscal year, leaving the amount for the Department of Justice the same as last year. Secretary Knox requested an additional 13 billion, and I have approved this, bringing the Department of Defense’s budget to $730 Billion dollars. I, myself, have kept the Department of the Treasury’s budget the same as well.”

When no one makes a move to stop him, Alexander takes a deep breath to collect himself. He had figured no one would call him out yet, which is why he purposely left the Department of State for last. He knows it’s going to be a shit show, and given his already foul mood, he figures he can’t be held responsible for how he acts in return. 

“Lastly, Secretary Jefferson has requested an extra 30 billion dollars, and this request I also deny. Instead, I am reducing the allocated funds for the Department of State by $10 billion, bringing the budget to 80.3 billion dollars.”

For a moment, no one says anything. Alex reclaims his seat, prepared to let Washington continue, and then Jefferson speaks. 

“You’re kidding me.” Alex looks up, sees the way Jefferson is watching him from across the table. His face is tight, like he’s trying to rein in his emotions. 

Alexander pauses for a moment, “No, I’m not.”

When Jefferson speaks again, his voice is controlled and measured, “You’ll approve a 7 million dollar proposal for Lee, who does nothing by the way, but you cut my budget? Spoiler alert, Hamilton, some of our departments are actually important.”

“If you’re trying to imply by department isn’t important, I’ll remind you who decides your budget, Jefferson. And if your request had been reasonable, I might have considered it.” He seethes through clenched teeth, “And, spoiler alert, maybe if the department was run by someone with actual ideas, I would have improved the spending increase.”

He knows he’s just goading Jefferson at this point, trying to get him to snap, trying to get that controlled look off his face, trying to get him furious. But, it's been a boring day, who can blame him?

“You’ll watch your words, Secretary,” Jefferson breathes, his tone losing the calm, cool, and collected element it had prior. 

Alexander lets his lips spread into a grin and he says, as evenly as he can manage, “Or what? You’ll slash my budget?”

It has the intended response. Jefferson’s out of his seat in a second, gloved palms pressed down onto the glass table in front of them as he leans as close to Hamilton as he can get, “Have fun pushing that assumption bill of yours through Congress, because in case you forget, it’s Republican controlled at the moment, and I swear to God, I’ll use every ounce of my influence to make sure it dies on the Senate floor.”

Bitter rage floods his chest at once. Alex pushes out of his chair, laptop getting knocked to the side, “You wouldn’t dare, you fucking egotistical asshole.”

“Watch me,” Jefferson hisses across the table, “All your ideas are trash, and they’ll end up right where they belong. And you have the audacity to call me egotistical? Says the man keeping his budget the same when we all know you had 4 billion dollars left over. Go ahead and slash my budget, but have fun getting thrown out of office when all the Northern states are drowning in debt.”

“You fucking pompus, arrogant-”

“Arrogant? Grab your thesaurus, Hamilton.”

“You motherfucking-”

“Hamilton!” Washington’s voice breaks through the pounding in his ears. Alexander realizes how close he is to throwing himself across the table and strangling Jefferson with his bare hands. He takes a breath, sitting back in his chair and trying to collect himself. 

“Secretary Jefferson and Secretary Hamilton, I’ll remind you that this is a professional workplace, and you should act like it is such. I will not tolerate such language and behaviour from my cabinet, is that understood?” Washington’s voice is cold, bearing no malice, but only frustration and disappointment. 

“Yes, Mr. President,” Jefferson says without missing a beat. 

“Hamilton?” Washington’s stone gaze towards his direction. 

He swallows, tries to fight the thoughts telling him to mouth off once more. After a moment, he responds, “Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Good.” Washington says, “This transitions into our second point of order. Since, in light of recent meetings, it has become clear that some members of this cabinet cannot act like adults and sort out their differences in professional ways, I’ve added a new member to be present during cabinet meetings and to mediate all business between the Department of the Treasury and Department of State.”

“Excuse me?” The words slip from Alexander’s mouth without his permission. He’s already spoken, might as well finish, “I don’t need a babysitter to meddle in my affairs.”

“Apparently you do, Alexander,” Washington says, his voice sharp, “Your actions here today have only proven my reasoning. As of two days from now, all negotiations will be run through Aaron Burr, your new mediator.”

“What?” Alexander says, “Aaron Burr? You’re joking.”

He knows Aaron Burr, went to college with the man, and Alex has to say he was not impressed. He’s never seen someone with such a distinct lack of opinions. He hates Jefferson, absolutely loathes him, but he’d work with the man over Aaron Burr any day. 

“I’m not, Secretary Hamilton, and you’ll be mindful to watch your tone with me.”

“My apologies, Your Excellency.”

“As I was saying,” Washington continues, “Mr. Burr will be running interference between the two departments until our Secretaries understand how to engage in a civil conversation and find compromises. Once you learn to behave as adults, Burr will be retired of his position.”

Washington gives a sharp look in Alexander’s direction and then in Jefferson’s. 

“That covers the talking points for today’s meeting. You’re all dismissed.”

Alexander hurries to save his mostly blank word document, and shoves his laptop into his satchel. He flicks the button closed, pulling it over his shoulder, and leaving the room in a hurry. Washington might not like how they speak during a meeting, but technically, the meeting is over. 

The elevator’s packed when he gets to it, so Alex takes the stairs. He races up them, adrenaline flooding through his veins, at the top of the stairs he takes a moment to straighten his shoulders and smooth back his hair. Then he pulls open the door and takes a left. Less than five feet later, he stops. Deep breath. Then he pushes open the door. 

“Excuse you?” Jefferson’s voice greets him as soon as he steps inside. 

“You fucking douchebag.” Alexander hisses, putting as much venom and hatred into his words as possible, “Thanks to you and your fucking stupidity, we’re stuck with Burr.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so incompetent at your job, we wouldn’t be here!”

“Maybe if you could get your head out of your own ass for a moment, you’d realize I literally cannot justify giving the Department of State an extra 30 billion dollars!” Alexander yells back at him. He knows they’re being loud, knows that the people that share the offices next to Jefferson are probably going to complain, but he finds that he can’t help it. 

“If you’d look past your own damn interests, you’d see that you literally could!”

“Well I might, if you weren’t such a fucking prick!”

“Fuck you,” Jefferson says, his voice almost as loud as Alexander’s now, “Fuck you and your face, and those clothes you wear that you think make you fit in. Spoiler alert: we all know where you came from.”

“Well fuck you!” He yells back because he is a mature adult, thank you very much, “Fuck you and fuck Virginia and fuck literally everything about you! Fuck your stupid ass politics, and your stupid coats, and those stupid ass fucking gloves!”

Jefferson says nothing, but his eyes betray him. He’s waiting for something, for whatever he thinks Alexander is going to say next, and he lets the words leave his mouth in a final coup de grace. “I feel sorry for your soulmate. I can’t imagine being stuck with someone like you for the rest of my life.”

Jefferson tenses almost as soon as the word ‘soulmate’ leaves his mouth. His eyes are dark, fire burning within them, completely taken aback. It takes only a moment for his armour to slam back into place once more and his expression returns to blankness.

When he speaks again, his voice is calm - bored even, “I’m sure you can see yourself out, Mr. Secretary.” And then he’s pushing past him and out the door, leaving Alexander in Jefferson’s office, alone.

Peggy Schuyler pokes her head in the door. Fuck, he'd forgotten Washington stuck her as Jefferson's assistant. Her dissapointment is obvious in the tight frown that stretches across her glossed grey lips. "Seriously Alex?"

He rolls his eyes, not bothering with a response, and heads back to his office. He'll deal with this later - or maybe never. He's yet to decide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love it? hate it? indifferent? I want to know!
> 
> Leave me a comment and make my day better?


	4. overstepped boundaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!
> 
> here is another shitty chapter, sent to you with all my love and affection.

Alexander knows he may have overreacted a little bit. Personally, he knows how touchy he could get when people mentioned his lack of soulmate in the past, and it may have been a little unfair of him to drag Jefferson’s into their argument. But, he thinks, it’s Jefferson. As far as Alexander can tell the man has two emotions: boredom and anger. So he doesn’t dwell on the fact that he might have overstepped an unknown boundary. He has no doubts that the moment he sees Jefferson, they’ll be back to bickering and insults. 

He should have known things never turn out how he expects them to. 

When he gets to the office that next morning, there’s no sign of the other man - which isn’t unusual. Alexander is usually the first person here in the mornings. He looks down the hallway in the direction of Jefferson’s office. Finds the door closed, the lights off, and the blinds drawn tightly. 

His first clue comes around nine that morning. He’s been nose deep in paperwork, trying to find some way to edit his assumption bill in order to get the six Republican swing votes he needs to pass it. But the fact of the matter is, the bill favors the Northern states. More than half the Southern states have long since paid off their wartime debts, and - from the perspective of a rich Southerner - Alexander can understand why they wouldn’t want to pay more in taxes to pay off the debt of the Northern states. No matter how he frames it, no matter what incentives he gives, there’s no way he’ll convince six Republicans to vote against their party. 

A knock on his door startles Alexander out of his increasingly morbid thoughts. 

“Come in,” He says, placing his torn apart bill back in it’s manilla folder and turning his attention to the door. 

“Mr. Jefferson asked me to drop these off.” Maria says, placing a stack of papers on the desk in front of him. A quick glance tells him it’s the projected financial numbers for the US’s aid to France. The numbers are up by 15 billion dollars. 

“Did he say anything else?” Alexander asks, unable to help himself. It’s strange that Jefferson wouldn’t use the opportunity to come into his office and rub it in Alexander’s face. Alex had obviously miscalculated the increased budget needed in France, and it would be a perfect opportunity for Jefferson to bitch him out in an attempt to get the increase of funds he wanted. 

“Uh, no.” Maria says, confusion obviously laced in her voice, “I told him you were in, but he was adamant that I deliver these myself.”

So not only had Jefferson dropped by and spoken to his secretary, but he knew that Alex wasn’t busy, and yet he had still chosen to have Maria give him the papers. 

“Is that all, sir?”

“Yes, Mrs. Reynolds, thank you.”

She leaves, closing the door gently behind her, leaving Alexander alone with his work. 

His second clue comes just a few hours later. 

When it becomes clear that staring at the papers in front of him isn’t going to magically give him the answers he wants, Alexander pushes his chair back from the desk and stands up. His back cracks in a way that is equally uncomfortable and necessary. Maria is out running errands in the Capital, and Alex’s coffee mug has been empty for too long. 

He walks to the break room, situated halfway between his office and Jefferson’s. Thankfully, the room is mostly empty. There are a few interns snacking on muffins brought by the Department of the Interior.He only recognizes one of them, a transfer from the US embassy in London. She had moved to the White House a few months ago, after a falling out with her superior.

“Miss. Shippen,” Alexander greets her with a smile. 

He moves to fill his mug, turning around as she recognizes him. 

“Mr. Secretary, it’s nice to see you out of your office for once.” She says, her voice high and charming, just a touch of the English accent she had tried so hard to ditch. 

“I believe I’ve told you a million times that I prefer Alexander.” He says with a grin, picking his mug up from the counter, “And, yes, it turns out locking myself in there might not be the best way to get things done. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Alexander, but hasn’t Washington been telling you that for months now?” 

If it was anyone else, Alex might be offended. But he knows Peggy well enough to recognize the teasing tone in her voice. 

“You are not mistaken, I just usually choose to avoid such advice. How are things with Mr. Arnold?” 

Her smile dips just a fraction, “Things are fine. He’s running me ragged, but I can’t complain.” 

“Well if you’d ever like to move to the Treasury Department, I’m on pretty good terms with the Treasury Secretary. I could put in a good word for you.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” She says, smiling returning full force. 

“I should get back to work,” He says after a moment, “God knows the department would fall apart if I take more than a ten minute break.” 

“It was nice talking with you, Alex.” Miss Shippen grins, “Give my regards to Lafayette when you see him next.” 

“Of course, enjoy the rest of your break.”

“I’d say you too, but we both know better.”

Alexander’s grinning on his way out of the break room, his mug full of steaming coffee and a little of the stress taken off his shoulders. Sometimes he gets so into his work, so focused, that he forgets how much of a difference a two second conversation can make. He rounds the corner out of the break room, about to turn to head back to his office, when he catches a glimpse of black hair and a hideous white and grey striped suit jacket. 

“Jefferson,” Alexander says as the man walks past him. The secretary makes no acknowledgement of him, so Alex says his name again. This time, Jefferson stops, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. 

“I’ve been going over your numbers from France. If you can get me the projected numbers for Spain and the Middle East, I’ll be able to refigure your budget.”

Thomas blinks. 

“I, uh, might have miscalculated some of the foreign aid, just send me the other figures and I can compare numbers.” Alexander continues, when it becomes clear Jefferson isn’t going to say anything. 

Eventually, Jefferson blinks again and nods once. “I’ll get them to Mrs. Reynolds by the end of the day.”

It’s curt, his words lacking any of their usual fire. He doesn’t even seem mad, offers no insult or jab at Alexander, doesn’t even seem to be trying to goad Alex into flying off the handle. 

He makes to move, and Alexander physically cannot stop himself from saying, “Jefferson, wait-”

When the man turns around again, Alexander is frozen to the spot. Where Jefferson’s expression had once been bored and dismissive, it is now blank. He’s looking at Alexander like he’s not really there, like he’s looking right through him at the white wall behind him. His usually vibrant grey eyes are now empty, and Alexander has never seen him with his armour so tightly knit to hide whatever lurks beneath. 

Even before, when they were arguing, he always had a hint of whatever it was Jefferson was thinking. Whether it was the way his eyes narrowed in annoyance, or his lips twitched in amusement at Alex’s misery, there had always been something, some clue. And now, there isn’t. 

“Jefferson, I-”

“I have a lot of work to do, Secretary Hamilton, if you’ll excuse me.” And then he’s walking off, Alexander left staring, mouth gaping, after his retreating figure. 

It would be different if Jefferson was mad. If he was his usual arrogant and bitchy self, yelling at Alexander for the smallest thing. But he doesn’t seem mad, instead, he had looked weary, almost - dare he say it - hurt. 

It becomes quite clear in that very moment, that Alexander’s misstep yesterday might not have been the kind of thing that could so easily be laughed off - even by someone like Jefferson. He wants to run after him, wants to confront him and ask why the fuck he’s acting like Alexander’s words had actually effected him, but the vibration from his pocket keeps his feet grounded. 

Alexander takes out his phone, sees a few unread emails from Knox about the budget, and a new text message. Unlocking his phone, he reads it quickly. 

From Betsy (11:48AM): Are we still on for lunch? Haven’t seen you in ages. <3

Alexander cannot help the smile that forces itself across his lips. His mood, no matter how foul or unruly, stands no match against his dearest friend’s words. Alex types a quick reply on his way back to his office. Once seated in his chair, coffee temporarily forgotten about, he sends it. 

To Betsy (11:51AM): Of course. See you at 12:30. 

After a moment, Alex rolls his eyes, smile still firmly fixed on his face, and sends another message. 

To Betsy (11:52AM): <3

The next thirty some minutes are spent in a blur of quick paced typing, and Alexander checking things off his mental to do list. When the door to his office opens around 12:30, Alexander drops his pen and pushes back from his desk. 

“Don’t stop on my account, Mr. Secretary.”

His smile grows immediately, both from her voice and the honorific. He stands from his desk, making his way to the door and pulling her in. 

“Hello, my dearest.” Alexander says, taking a moment to let his eyes study her. She is as beautiful as the night they first met, the top section of her long black hair tied back at the nap of her neck. Her dress is a light grey, a corset front with a white frill along her chest, and a hem that falls just above her knees. Her dark eyes are calculating, and her smile is wide and glistening white. 

“Are you ready? I do hope I’m not interrupting your work,” Eliza says, her nose bunching up as she looks past Alexander to the mess of paperwork on his desk. 

He takes her hand is his own, her fingers too cold and beautiful against his own which are warm and ink stained. They fit together like they were born to, and he thinks that in a different reality, they might have been soulmates. 

“You’re not, but even if you were, you know I’d never be able to say no to you.”

She laughs, a bright and beautiful melody to his ears. “Oh you charmer, I’ve missed your pretty words, Alexander.”

He allows her to pull him into a hug. Her petite arms come to wrap around his neck, and he buries his face in the curve where her shoulder meets her neck. Her perfume invades his senses immediately, the smell of lavender reminding him of college, of home, of safety. Alexander is happy to see her, he is, but with her presence comes a long train of melancholy memories. 

When she pulls away after a long moment, her hands stay pressed to his arms. With one hand, she reaches up to press her palm to the side of Alexander’s face, “You look exhausted, Alexander.”

His hand covers her own and he offers her a small smile, “It’s been a long week.”

Eliza’s face grows disapproving, “Come on, my love, let’s get lunch. I know you haven’t eaten all day, and you’ll get nothing done if you starve to death first.”

He intertwines his fingers with hers, still pressed against his cheek, and allows her to pull him out of his office. They walk to the elevator in silence. She, no doubt, can feel how pensive he feels. That’s always been the thing about Eliza that he’s loved the most. Yes, she was smart and beautiful and the kindest person he’s ever met, but she’s also been able to read him better than anyone else. 

The doors open, and she steps in first. Alex hits the button to the first floor, and they doors begin to close. They’re about halfway shut when someone says, “Hold the doors,”

Eliza, in all her glory, reaches out and jabs the ‘door open’ button. It dings, the doors pulling back open. And, because the universe hates him, Jefferson stands on the other side. 

Alex can see his eyes calculate the situation in front of him. They dart from Alexander, to Eliza, to their interlocked hands. His face is still mostly blank as he steps onto the elevator with them. 

Eliza can definitely feel the tension between them, and she offers Alex a knowing look before she turns to Jefferson. 

“Mr. Secretary, it’s been so long. How are you?”

Jefferson, for all his spite and misery, must know well enough that - despite his tumultuous relationship with Alexander - Eliza is to be respected. 

The smile he offers her is unlike any that Alexander has ever seen him wear before. It is bright, genuine, and makes him look even more attractive than usual. His teeth are on display, straight and white, the smile making the wrinkles along his forehead grow deeper. 

“Miss Schuyler, it’s nice to see you again. I’m doing well, same old business as usual. How have you been? I heard from Peggy that your orphanage is almost up and running.”

Her smile grows even more genuine, as if she’s actually enjoying the conversation. (Considering how lovely she is, she probably does enjoy speaking to Jefferson). 

“We’re almost there. It’s quite hard work, but I’m enjoying myself thoroughly and there’s no room in my heart for complaint. I truly love making a difference in the lives of children, offering them safety and love when no one else will.”

Jefferson’s eyes flash from Eliza to Alexander, and he knows what the man’s thinking. Yes, he wants to say, I’m an orphan. You want to rub it in my face too? But Eliza’s there, her hand still intertwined with his own, and he can’t imagine disappointing her by making their conversationing into something that demeans him. 

The elevator dings, the doors opening on the first floor, and Jefferson nods his head at her. “Women of your integrity and ambition are rare, Miss. Schuyler. Should you ever need anything to help with your cause, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jefferson,” Eliza says as they exit the elevator together, “It was absolutely lovely to see you.” 

“Likewise, Miss. Schuyler. Enjoy your day.”

Alexander watches Jefferson walk off without a backwards glance, his fingers gripping Eliza’s tight. 

“Come on, love, I made reservations at that Italin place we used to frequent.” Eliza tells him, leaning further against him. 

He lets go of her hand, interlocking their arms together instead, and strides out the door. 

They get seated without a second’s wait, and Alexander doesn’t know if its on account of his position, or Eliza’s. Sometimes he wonders how he can so easily forget who she is, and how lucky he is to have him in his life. The second daughter of the wealthy and influential New York Senator, Philip Schuyler. He doesn’t know what he has done to deserve someone of such status and, more importantly, someone so damn kind. 

As soon as their drink orders are placed and she closes the menu in front of her (no doubt going to order the chicken carbonara), she turns a knowing smile his way. 

“Yes?” Alexander asks, finally deciding on the fettucini. He closes his menu, laying it on top of hers. 

“Just thinking about how nice it was to run into Thomas.”

So that’s where this is going. 

Alexander lets loose a sigh. “What exactly did Peggy tell you?”

Eliza’s perfect eyebrow arches, “What ever could you mean by that?”

“I know she overheard the conversation, and that she - no doubt - told you. So feel free to lay into me, I know I kinda overreached.”

“Alexander, you didn’t kinda overreach,” She tells him, “You massively fucked up.”

Her words are chastising, but the smile on her face is anything but. He snorts at her cursing and lets his head fall into his hand, elbow resting against the table. 

“I know, and to be fair, I didn’t mean it. I’ve just kind of been on edge recently, and yesterday didn’t help.”

Her smile dips, and she reaches across the table to put her hand on his, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” He says, not wanting to worry her, but also not looking to talk about it at the moment. 

The conversation is broken when the waiter appears to drop off their drinks and take their orders. He lets Eliza order first, unsurprised when she orders exactly what he had guessed. He orders next, handing the menus to the waiter and thanking him as he leaves. 

He watches her take a sip of her tea. 

“What colour is your dress?”

She looks down at her clothing, as if she hadn’t known prior, “This one’s blue.”

Blue, interesting. 

“I haven’t seen blue yet,” He says slowly, watching the way her smile curves and then freezes. She looks up at him with confused eyes. 

“Alexander?”

He smiles at her, practically approving her train of thought. After a moment, her smile grows even wider, and her hand squeezes his. “Alexander! You’ve found them?”

“I mean, kind of,” He says, “I’ve seen a couple colours, but I don’t know who they are yet.”

“I’m so happy for you, Alexander,” She says, and he knows she means it, “Once you find them, and they give you the gift of a world full of colour for the first time, there is nothing like it. Your world changes, and they become one of the many pieces that makes you who you are, who you’re meant to be.”

Coming from anyone other than his dearest Eliza, Alexander would have scoffed. Those words, her words, were the same ones he’s been hearing for years. That meeting your soulmate was the most mind opening, world bending, romantic thing. That when you first kissed them, when you choose to give them colour, you became a different version of yourself. A better version. But this is Eliza, and he knows that she means it. 

“How is Hercules, by the way?” Alexander says, trying to steer the conversation away from talk of his soulmate and towards talk of her own. 

“He’s fine, Alexander, and don’t think you’ll get out of talking about this. How is it you haven’t found them yet?”

He sigh, knowing he won’t escape this lunch without spilling, “I only see colour in the most random of places. The handle of a door, one of the elevator buttons, and a picture frame. It’s totally random, and I don’t know how to track down who might have touched them, but - in all honesty - I think that’s the point. I don’t think they want me to find them.”

“Well, my dear, it is very possible you’ve scared them off already. I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you’re not the easiest man to get along with.”

Alexander considers her words. She has a point, as always. He isn’t the easiest to get along with, and half the time he’s just a complete asshole. It would make sense that his soulmate would be weary of telling him, especially if Alexander had been rude to them in the past. 

“Perhaps you’re right, Betsy. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t apologize to every single person I’ve bitched at through the years.”

She gives him a smile, eyelashes fluttering, “Maybe just start being nicer in general? And even to people that you know aren’t your soulmate. There can never be too much kindness in this world, Alexander.”

“Maybe I should.”

“And while you’re at it,” She begins, “Perhaps you can apologize to Mr. Jefferson too. I know you don’t get along, Alex, but he’s truly a good man. You have different values and beliefs, but you never know when you’ll need an ally from across the aisle.”

She looks so genuine, so caring and kind, and Alexander knows she’s right. He wishes, with all himself, that he could be more like her. There wasn’t a single person that Eliza couldn’t get along with, not a single person she didn’t wish the best for. 

“You’re right, Bets.” He says, “I’ll apologize.”

Their waiter interrupts with their dishes, and the soulmate conversation is tabled. 

After lunch, Eliza walks him back to the White House. She gives him a kiss on the cheek outside his office, makes him promise to keep in touch more often (with her and Angelica), and shoots him a knowing look. 

“Remember what I said.”

Alexander gives her a small smile, “I will. Get home safe, my love.”

She winks at him as she turns to leave. He watches her leave, grey dress swaying with her walk, leaving in a flurry of lavender perfume. 

As much as he doesn’t want to apologize, as much as he wants to stew in his own self loathing, Alexander knows what he has to do. The only chance he has to get anything done in office is to compromise with Jefferson, and there’s no chance of that happening if he doesn’t apologize. 

He shoulders off his jacket, hanging it from the back of his desk chair, and leaves the office. 

“I’m going to have a word with Mr. Jefferson. If anyone stops by, make a note and I’ll get back to them.” He tells Maria on his way out. 

She gives him a surprised look, but nods nonetheless. 

He walks down the hallway, and Peggy looks up from her desk. 

“Is Jefferson in?” Alexander asks, fingers drumming on the wood. 

Her frown grows, “Yes, but I’m going to assume he doesn’t want to speak to you.”

“Now Pegs, why would you assume a thing like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It might be this email he sent earlier, telling me that if you showed up, I should send you away at once.”

Alexander rolls his eyes, “Well, I’m here to apologize, so can you just, like, let me go in?”

She looks hesitant for a moment, teeth digging into her glossy bottom lip.

“I can’t actually,” Peggy tells him, “But if I were to leave my desk for a moment and you just happened to sneak in when I wasn’t watching, well it’d hardly be my fault, right?”

And Alex knows what she’s doing. This way, she stays on his good side without threat of Jefferson getting mad that she disobeyed an order. 

“Right.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, and stands from the desk. As she walks away, Alex hears her mutter under her breath, “Don’t fucking get paid enough for this shit.”

As soon as she slips around the hallway, Alexander takes that as his cue. He knocks twice on the door, pushing it open just a little and sticking his head in. “Secretary Jefferson?” He says, tagging on the honorific like it’ll make him seem more sorry. 

He hears a scoff from inside the office, and figures ‘fuck it’. He steps further inside, shutting the door behind him. 

Jefferson’s behind his desk, focused on a stack of papers and his laptop, both of which sit in front of him. Alex hesitates for a moment, and when Jefferson says nothing, he crosses the office to sit down in the chair across from him. 

“I’m sorry,” Alexander says, forcing the words from his mouth. Jefferson says nothing, doesn’t even look up, so Alex continues on. “What I said was unfair and rude. I shouldn’t have said it, and I realize I crossed a line. We both said a lot of shitty things, but I shouldn’t have brought your soulmate into it.”

He says it all in one breath, rushed words running together as they force themselves from his throat. Jefferson says nothing, but after a moment he finally looks up from the papers in front of him. He holds Alexander’s eye contact for a second, tops, before he looks back down at his computer and continues typing. 

The audacity of this fucker. Alexander can feel indignant anger rising up in his chest, and he wants to yell, wants to chew him out until he gets something in reply. Until he gets an apology in return. 

But he’s a mature adult. So, for once in his life, Alexander refrains. He simply rises from the chair, marches back to his office, grabs that stupid jacket from his closet, returns to Jefferson’s office and throws it onto his desk. 

It lands there, almost knocking over his Starbucks coffee cup, and finally,  _ finally _ , Alexander gets his attention. 

“You left this at the bar.” Alexander says, making no move to explain why he grabbed it that night, probably because he can’t even justify it to himself. 

Thomas looks at the jacket, his frown growing more noticable, and then his gaze finds Alexander’s. “I left it there on purpose.”

“Why?” He can’t help but ask. In all his rationalizing, he’d never expected that Jefferson would have purposely left it there. He had looked at the tag, recognized the brand, and recognized how expensive it was. Why in the hell would Jefferson choose to leave a $600 jacket at a shitty bar?”

“I don’t like the colour.” 

Alex snorts, “It’s white.”

Jefferson’s eyes flicker back to his, and he looks thoughtful for a long moment before he continues, “Well I don’t want it back.” He says, pushing the jacket in Alexander’s direction, “Keep it, sell it, throw it away, I don’t care. But I don’t want it.”

Alexander picks up the jacket, tossing it behind him where it lands on Jefferson’s couch. When he looks back, Jefferson’s eyes are on his. 

“Fine, don’t accept the jacket, but please accept my apology. Because whether we like it or not, we have to get along for the sake of both our sanity’s. You might not know Burr, but I do, and you’ll hate him even more than you hate me.”

Jefferson’s face is still blank, his eyes trained on Alexander’s for a second too long. It makes him uncomfortable, feels like Jefferson is studying him just to gather information to tear him apart. 

After a long moment of silence, Jefferson clears his throat. He rubs a gloved hand across his face and nods. “I’ll consider it.”

And, really, that’s all Alexander can ask from him. He nods in return, standing from the chair and turning towards the door. 

He looks back over his shoulder, once more, and sees Jefferson still watching him. 

“Have a good evening, Mr. Secretary.” Alexander says, not sticking around to see if Jefferson replied. 

He heads back to his office, knowing it’s going to be a late night. He’s got too much to finish by the end of the week, and given that his time is going to be stolen by whatever horrendous presentation Burr put together for their cabinet meeting tomorrow, it can’t be put off. 

Alex sits down at his desk, pulls his laptop back open, and gets to work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got any theories? i want to hear them! yell at me here or over on my tumblr


	5. professional declarer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forced myself to write this instead of doing the one million other things I need to do. 
> 
> Drop me a comment and feed my craving for validation

John drops into the seat in front of him. 

“Why do you look miserable?” He asks, and Alexander rolls his eyes, pushing John’s drink towards him. 

“You always give me shit about being late, but here you are,” He looks at his watch with a too dramtic sigh, “7 minutes late to lunch.”

His friend pouts, his bottom lip pushing forward. “Don’t be mad, I got stuck at the hospital. You know, where I care for the sick and injured.”

Alexander’s facade of anger cracks and he snorts, “Shut up, we both know you don’t do shit there.”

John’s chuckle makes him feel warm, “Fuck you, but you’re also kind of right.” John says with a grin, “You order yet?”

“Yeah, I got you the personal with pepperoni and olives.”

“God, I could kiss you.”

Alexander’s face scrunches up, “You really want to have a repeat of freshman year?”

John winks at him, taking a sip of his Dr. Pepper, “It was a good time.”

“It was like thirty seconds.”

John snorts, rolling his eyes, and the flush on his cheeks makes his freckles stand out, “Shut up, it was like three minutes.” He says with a smirk, “And besides, Ben doesn’t seem to mind.”

Alex throws his straw wrapper at him, “I hate you.”

John grins, boyishly and cute, and Alexander feels a rush of affection for their friendship.

That is, until, John opens his mouth again. “How’s Jefferson? You bitch him out again today?”

And isn’t that a loaded question. They hadn’t spoken the entire morning. Alex had seen him when he made a run to the break room earlier, and neither of them had acknowledged the other. He reasons that the burden is now on Jefferson. Alexander had apologized, and now it was up to Jefferson to stop being a bitch for a second and accept it. 

“Who told you?”

John raises an eyebrow, “Eliza, who else?”

“Why would she do a thing like that?”

John’s smile grows, “She thinks you’re meant to be together.”

Alexander fake gags. Jefferson and him? No thanks, he’d rather fucking jump in the Hudson. Sure he was hot, but Jesus, the guy was a fucking asshole. 

“She’s obviously lost her mind. As a doctor, you should have recognized the symptoms,” Alexander replies, getting interrupted as the waitress drops off their pizzas. He smiles at her, even throws in a wink, and grins when she blushes and scurries off. 

“I don’t know man, y’all have that tension.”

He raises an eyebrow, “That’s not how it works.”

“Come on, you can admit the hate sex would be awesome.”

And, well, it’s not like Alexander can say that he hasn’t thought about it. Yeah, he didn’t like Jefferson. Didn’t like his smarmy personality, or his asshole-ery, or his fucking fashion sense or dumb opinions. But he was okay to look at. With a body built like a Greek God, hair that framed his (stupid) face so perfectly, that dazzelingly white smile that never got pointed in Alexander’s direction. 

And he has no doubts that Jefferson would be good. He’s heard rumours of the illicit affairs he had partaken in when he was back in Paris. He’d make Alex fall apart and put him back together slowly and then all at once. (Okay, so he’s definitely thought about it.)

Enough of those thoughts. He waits until John takes a bite of his pizza before he replies, “You think he keeps the gloves on when he fucks someone?”

John chokes on his pizza and Alexander laughs. 

When he gets back to the office, Maria immediately reminds him of the cabinet meeting. Alexander wants, more than anything, to skip it. But, if he doesn’t go, he can’t convince Washington to get rid of Burr. 

He spends the next twenty minutes before the meeting working through the budget. He’s been staring at the numbers for days, and yet nothing is coming to him. Nothing is working out in his head. All his plans keep falling apart, and it’s starting to drive him insane. 

“Hey Alex, you want to walk down together?”

He looks up, sees Henry standing at his door. Fuck, time to be miserable, he guesses. 

“Yeah sure, just give me a second.”

He saves the new changes he made, picking up his laptop and following Henry out the door. The ride down is filled with small talk about Arizona. He likes Henry, has liked him since they first met. Alexander wouldn’t really consider them friends, he’d never share anything personal about his life with the man, but they can have a decent conversation without either getting pissed off. 

When he enters the conference room, Washington, Lee, and Greene are already in their seats. There’s no sign of Jefferson or Monroe yet, and Alexander thinks they’ll probably show up together. 

He drops into his seat diagonal from Washington, Henry taking his seat on Alexander’s other side. Washington doesn’t look impressed and Alexander feels indigant _ something _rise in his chest. He doesn’t know if Washington had heard about his little yelling match with Jefferson, but the look Washington sends him kind of clues Alex in, that yeah, he had heard about it. The feeling rises in his chest. 

Since he first met Washington many years ago, Alex has strived for his approval. Everything he does, when it doesn’t directly advance his own personal agenda, is for Washington’s approval, for his praise. As pathetic as it is, he wants Washington to be proud of him- needs Washington to be proud of him.

The door opens as Alexander’s computer is sputtering to life and Jefferson enters, followed closely by Monroe and Burr. Alex watches, not even trying to be subtle about it, as Jefferson takes his seat. He watches the man pull out a sheet of paper and a pen, and then Jefferson looks up at him. His expression is blank. After a moment of eye contact, Jefferson simply raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. 

“Do we know what the kid’s going to say?” Henry asks from his side, his voice not quite a whisper. Alex leans in his chair, the back squeaking. He looks at Burr, who gives him a polite nod. 

“Probably nothing.”

Henry’s look turns questioning, and Alex huffs out a small laugh.

“It’s kind of his thing,” Alexander tells him, “He’ll say a lot of words, but he somehow manages to say nothing at all.”

“Alright, we’re all here.” Washington addresses the room, “I’d like to summarize the last meeting real quick. Secretary Hamilton went through the proposed cabinet budget for this fiscal year. The projected budget has been emailed to you all, please review it and take any concerns to Alexander.” 

“So he can insult us too?” Charles Lee says from the back of the room, and Alexander looks at Jefferson. He looks almost amused. 

“Hey Lee,” Alex says with a sweet grin he doesn’t feel, “Why don’t you go shove it?”

“Moving on,” Washington says before he can get a reply. Lee shoots Alex a sneer. “I also introduced a new member of this cabinet as a liason for the departments, particularly State and Treasury. Not that I need to justify myself, but it has been brought to my attention that some of our Secretaries need a non partial voice in order to get anything done.”

Alexander rolls his eyes, scoffing out loud. If Washington could stop with the passive aggressive attacks on his character and just call him out, then maybe they could get this fucking meeting over with already. 

“Mr. Burr, I believe you have a presentation for us. Please, go ahead.”

“Thank you Mr. President. As liaison, I have a lot of ideas to smooth the tension between departments and maximize productivity. It’s quite obvious that nothing can get done in the Department of State without the Treasury’s approval. As for my plan of action, the first step in solving a problem is admitting there is a problem there. Now, the United States’ involvement in France-”

As soon as Burr starts talking about French affairs - without really saying anything, Alexander completely stops paying attention, and he’s not even trying to hide it. He pulls his laptop off the table in front of him and into his lap, and opens his email. He doesn’t have time to listen to Burr drag out a bullshit presentation that wasn’t needed. Alex had legislation he needed to get through congress. 

He opens a new email from Senator Schuyler. 

**From: _phschuyler@senate.gov  
_To: _aham@exect.gov_**

**Secretary Hamilton, **

**After speaking with the Democratic whip, I can assure you that all Senate Democrats have pledged to vote in favour for Senate Bill S.1654, which gives you six votes short of a majority. I have been speaking with Angelica and she is meeting with a lobbyist this afternoon to find a method of getting the remaining votes. However, I am doubtful we can get the needed number by the 21st. If you have any other ideas, I encourage you to pursue them. **

**Your Obedient Servant,   
Phillip Schulyler**

And isn’t that lovely? They were still six votes short. Alexander loves Angelica, knows she can get things done, but he is beginning to doubt their ability to convince the Republicans to vote for his assumption bill before it gets brought forth in the Senate. It’s as he’s replying to Schuyler, that another email notification pops up. 

He feels his brow furrow in confusion. Quickly, he exits out of the reply and opens the new email. 

**From: _thjefferson@exect.gov  
_To: _aham@exect.gov_**

**Okay I forgive you, Jesus Christ, just get this guy to shut up.**

**Th Jefferson**

He huffs out a laugh of surprise. Looking up from his laptop, he sees Jefferson sitting back in his chair, arms crossed. He’s looking at Burr, his eyebrow still arched, but now there is annoyance in his face. He looks over at Alexander, like he could feel his gaze, and when they make eye contact, Jefferson’s lip twitches up. 

Alexander goes back to his laptop and types out a reply

**To: _thjefferson@exect.gov  
_From: _aham@exect.gov_**

**Secretary Jefferson, **

**I told you. **

**A. Ham**

He sees when Jefferson gets the email, because that twitch in his lip quirks even higher. Jefferson rolls his eyes as he looks at his phone, and then his gloved fingers are typing on his blackberry’s keyboard. After a moment, he looks up at Alexander expectantly. 

Unsurprisingly, there is a new message in his inbox He clicks the new email, opening it up. 

**From: _thjefferson@exect.gov  
_To: _aham@exect.gov_**

**I thought you were just being your usual immature self, but alas, I was wrong. This is worse than I could have expected. How does Washington expect him to help anything? I’d rather listen to you talk all day, and considering that I want to drown myself everytime you open your mouth, that’s saying something. **

**Th Jefferson**

He snorts. 

**To: _thjefferson@exect.gov  
_From: _aham@exect.gov_**

**Secretary Jefferson, **

**Burr is the bane of my existence. He doesn’t have a single opinion about anything! But I agree, for once, with you. I’d rather put up with someone that was born with a silver spoon up their ass and has the shittiest political opinions alive then deal with him. I’m going to stay after (if this ever ends) and talk to Washington, please feel free to stay here and back me up. If both of us can agree on this, then Washington might listen. **

**A. Ham**

He watches Jefferson read the email. His eyebrows raise in surprise, and Alex wonders what he could have said that would warrant _ that _ look. A moment later, a new email pops into his inbox. 

**From: _thjefferson@exect.gov  
_To: _aham@exect.gov_**

**Burr’s the bane of your existence? Here I thought that title belonged to me. And I’m going to ignore your shitty insults and tell you that I’ll stay as well. I hate that I’m agreeing with you, but going through Burr might make resign, and I like my job. **

**Th Jefferson**

Alexander’s surprised. He looks up at Jefferson, sees the man watching him, and Alex cools his expression into a blank slate. Jefferson’s email had seemed almost _ playful _. Since when was he anything but a dick 24/7? 

_ Here I thought that title belonged to me. _

It had seemed as though he was actually joking. Since when did he have a fucking sense of humour? Alexander hums thoughtfully. When he looks back at Jefferson, the other man is already looking at him expectantly. Alexander pushes away his train of thought before he can get too caught up in his own head, and sends another reply. 

**To:_ thjefferson@exect.gov  
_From: _aham@exect.gov_**

**Secretary Jefferson, **

**You are my arch nemesis. There is a difference. **

**A.Ham**

Jefferson’s reply comes immediately. 

**From: _thjefferson@exect.gov  
_To:_ aham@exect.gov_**

**I don’t remember voting for that. **

**Th Jefferson**

Alexander rolls his eyes. When he looks at Jefferson, who is looking at Burr, it looks suspiciously like he’s smiling. He doesn’t understand why Jefferson’s being nice, why he’s actually being pleasant for once. Alex is waiting for the rug to be pulled out from beneath him, waiting for Jefferson to snap.

**To: _thjefferson@exect.gov  
_From: _aham@exect.gov_**

**Secretary Jefferson, **

**This isn’t a democracy. **

**A. Ham**  
**Your Beloved Monarch**

He continuously refreshes his email until a new reply comes in. 

**From: _thjefferson@exect.gov  
_To: _aham@exect.gov_**

**Hold on, let me draft another declaration really quick. **

**Th Jefferson  
Professional Declarer**

And Jefferson is really never going to let anyone forget about that, is he?

**To: _thjefferson@exect.gov  
_From: _aham@exect.gov_**

**Secretary Jefferson, **

**Good luck getting the people on board, on account of your terrible opinions. **

**A. Ham**  
**Leader of the People**

“That’s all I have to say on the subject.” Burr says finally, “Thank you for your time and I’m looking forward to working with you all.”

Alexander looks at the latest email. 

**From: _thjefferson@exect.gov  
_To: _aham@exect.gov_**

**Ignoring that too. But thank God he’s done.**

**Th Jefferson  
CEO of Please Get A. Ham to Shut Up**

“Thank you, Mr. Burr. You have some great points and arguments, which I have no doubt our Secretaries will consider. Now, if there are no other questions or comments?” When no one says anything, Washington continues, “Excellent. You are all dismissed.”

Alexander watches the crowd file from the room. Alexander sees Jefferson remain seated, looking at Washington with a blank stare. When the room is finally empty, Alexander shuts his laptop and stands. 

“Sir, with all due respect, that was the dumbest thirty minutes of my life.” Alexander says, “Burr is a useless hassle, and he’ll only slow down the progress we’re trying to make.”

Washington’s face is blank. “Considering you didn’t pay attention for twenty-five minutes of it, Alexander, I don’t really think you can critique.”

“I heard enough after five minutes.” Alexander replies, “He didn’t even outline a plan for the Treasury, he just talked about France!”

“You’ve shown me why this is needed. And Burr was right, nothing will get done with this constant bickering. You, and you alone Alexander, will not convince me.”

“Actually, Sir, this is something Hamilton and I agree on.” Jefferson interjects finally. He’s standing beside Alexander now, black coat on his arm, practically towering over him. How had he never noticed how tall Jefferson was before?

Washington raises an eyebrow at this. An unusual display of actual emotion, “You do?”

“Yes, Your Excellency, Secretary Jefferson and I agree that Burr needs to go.”

Washington is quiet for a moment, thoughtful, and then he shakes his head, “While I’m glad the two of you can actually agree on something, I’m afraid it doesn’t prove anything. Agreeing on this doesn’t mean you can agree on actual problems; it doesn’t mean you can make compromises.”

“Sir I-”

“Until you can show me that the two of you can actually get something done, together, then Burr stays.” His words are stern, his tone final. 

Alexander deflates. Washington nods at both of them, “You’re dismissed, Secretaries.”

Alex barely refrains from rolling his eyes. He turns on his heels, following Jefferson from the room. He gets a wave of the other man’s cologne, and frowns. So not only did Jefferson have to be handsome (and stupid), but he had to smell good too?

He stops that train of thought as they get onto the elevator. Jefferson turns to him, frowning. “That went well.”

Alexander shakes his head, “We just have to try harder.”

Jefferson shrugs, saying nothing. He’s back to his quiet self, and Alexander doesn’t know what the think of that. He had said he forgave Alexander. He had even been fun to email, but now it was like they were back at square one. He supposes he shouldn’t assume that just because Jefferson forgave him they were anything other than people that could barely stand each other. The elevator pings and the doors open. Jefferson nods to him, once, and leaves. 

But there is work to be done. 

He follows Jefferson towards his office. Peggy gives him a raised eyebrow and he simply smiles at her and enters the office. 

The man tosses a glance over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Can I help you?”

“If we want to get rid of Burr, the only way we can do that is to figure out the budget.” Alexander tells him, “We have to compromise.”

He sees Jefferson sink down into his chair, running his gloved hands across his face. When he looks back up, he looks fucking exhausted. Alex hadn’t noticed before, but there were dark grey circles beneath his eyes, and when Jefferson closes his eyes, Alex thinks he might have actually fell asleep. 

When he opens them a moment later, he’s looking at Alex with a pleading expression, “In case you missed the part of Burr’s presentation where he proposed we completely restructure the foreign aid in France, I’ll remind you. What he’s proposing would completely change all my plans, so I have to draw up a new comparison policy, and it's going to take me awhile.” Jefferson tells him. 

“Jefferson, don’t you under-”

"_Alexander_,” Jefferson pleads, and it stops his words. Jefferson has hardly ever used his first name, and for some reason, it sounds so good coming out of his mouth. “Can this please wait?”

He sounds so tired, so done with everything, that Alexander can only nod. He gets his bearings back in a second and offers Jefferson what he hopes is a polite smile. 

“Yeah, of course it can. I’ll email you the new changes I’ve made, and you can look over them when you have a moment.” Alexander says, turning towards the door. When he gets there, he looks back over his shoulder at Jefferson. 

The man looks miserable, pathetic even, and Alexander hates the way he feels sorry for him. This is Jefferson, his rival - his enemy - he should be soaking in the man’s misery like vitamin C. Instead, all he feels is sympathy. He’s been there, hell, he’s still there. 

“Have a good night, Secretary Jefferson.” He says almost as an afterthought, his words echoing those from their previous encounter the night before. 

This time, he sticks around for the reply. 

Jefferson looks up from his desk, a soft but tired smile on his face when he replies, “You too, Alexander.”

And there’s his first name again. Alexander swallows harshly, turning to leave before he can do something stupid, like offer to stay and help him. 

He doesn’t miss the knowing look Peggy shoots him on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooo what's gonna happen? :)
> 
> (also, tell me if u want a chapter from Jefferson's perspective. and by tell, i mean convince hehe)


	6. a little progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we make a little progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was so fun to write!! We. Are. Getting. There. 
> 
> Let me know whatcha think??

Alexander is sitting at his desk, thumbing through his latest draft of the assumption bill. He’s supposed to meet with Angelica in twenty minutes to figure out their next plan of action. His door opens, and he doesn’t bother looking up. 

“Can you grab me another coffee, and make sure the aspirin’s here when I get back? God knows Angelica is going to have some choice words.”

There’s no way Eliza hasn’t told her about the entire soulmate thing, and he knows Angelica better than to believe she’ll let it pass without comment. 

“That seems like a job for your secretary.”

Alex looks up in surprise, his eyes finding Jefferson. He looks a little better than he had yesterday, the dark circles under his eyes faded a little, and the expression on his face a little less desperate. It takes Alexander a moment, and then he notices the jacket. 

The same white jacket Jefferson had left at the bar. The one Alex had given back to him. The one he said he hated. 

“Sorry, thought you were Maria.” He says, unable to tear his eyes from the jacket. He thinks it’s the same one. It has the same curl of the collar, the same buttons on the wrists, and it’s still obscenely white. “I thought you hated that jacket?”

Jefferson looks down at his own clothes like he didn’t realize what he was wearing. He shrugs, “I was cold.”

Alex raises an eyebrow, not believing him. But, whatever, it was really none of his business if Jefferson wanted to wear the damn jacket or not. 

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Secretary?”

“Yes, actually,” Jefferson responds, walking forward and dropping a stack of papers onto the desk. He looks at the first page, and his eyebrow immediately arches. It’s the budget plan, marked up ridiculously in pen. 

Alex flips through the first couple of pages, a wounded noise escaping his throat, “I appreciate that you found the time to make some changes, but this is absurd.” Alexander says finally, “I can’t slash the budgets like this, and I definitely can’t give you this much money. Even with the new numbers from Europe and the Middle East, I can’t budget _ this _ much.”

“You’re the one who said we needed to compromise, Hamilton,” Jefferson replies, although his words lack a bite. Alex doesn’t miss the return of his last name. 

Jefferson smirks, and Alex can feel irritation bubble in his chest. They don’t have a choice, he reminds himself, they have to figure out something. 

“I’m supposed to meet with Angelica in like ten minutes,” Alex says, “Why don’t you come back when I return, and we can work through it? That way I can shoot down all your shitty ideas.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I already worked through it.” Jefferson shoots back, and Alex rolls his eyes. 

“I see that, but in case _ you _didn’t hear what I said, I’m not approving this. So unless you want to be stuck with your current budget or go through Burr, you’ll come here when I get back and work through it with me.”

Jefferson looks like he wants to argue, like he wants to tell Alex to go shove his budget, but thankfully he’s smarter than that. His shoulders deflate and a huff of air leaves his mouth. 

“Fine,” Jefferson replies after a moment - although he doesn’t look happy about it, “Fine, yes, send me an email when you get back and we can go through this shit.”

Alexander smiles because it feels as though he’s won, and nods. “Will do, Mr. Secretary.”

Jefferson just rolls his eyes at that and stalks out of the room, leaving Alex grinning after him. 

He meets Angelica at a little coffee shop down on 17th street. It’s a nice place, lots of people from the Capital and the White House making up their customers, but it's not a place Alexander frequents. 

He pulls open the door, a blast of heat and the smell of coffee smacking into him like a brick wall. He finds Angelica at a small table near the back. She’s dressed like she just got out of the Capital, hair pulled back into a slick ponytail, and dressed in a clean-cut grey pantsuit with white heels. She’s typing on her laptop, face a mixture of frustration and concentration. There are two cups of coffee in front of her, so Alexander skips the line and makes his way over to her. 

He drops into the seat across from her and watches as she looks up from the laptop with a frown. When she sees who it is, a small smile crosses her face. 

“What’s with the death glare?” He asks as he takes a sip from the cup closest to him. 

“Thought you were Burr.” She says, looking back down at her laptop and typing faster than anyone Alex has ever seen- present company excluded. 

“Burr?”

“Ever since he’s joined Washington’s staff, he thinks I’ve changed my mind about him.” She says, her frown growing, “Or he’s just trying to get votes in Congress, I’m not really sure.”

“Well anyone would be lucky to have a lobbyist as good as you in their pocket,” Alex says with a shit-eating grin. He, of all people, knows how good she is at what she does. 

“We’ve talked about this a million times, Alexander, I’m not a lobbyist.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Are you, or are you not, someone who influences legislation?”

“I am, but I prefer freelance consultant.”

He huffs out a laugh at that, rolling his eyes. “Whatever, Mrs. Schuyler. Do you have good news for me, or am I going to leave here in a bigger mess than I came.”

Angelica looks up from her laptop and gives him an appraising glance, “Not to be rude, but Eliza’s right, you do look like shit. So, bad news or good news, I’m not sure it’ll make much of a dent.”

And, oh, how he’s missed her candor. Alex smiles wider at that, “Stop avoiding the question, and tell me what you found out.”

“Right to business, I see. It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in months.”

“_Angelica_,”

“Fine, fine, Jesus. I met with Senator Maclay from Pennsylvania, and after a long dinner, in which I picked up the bill, I got him to support the assumption bill in exchange for you not cutting the Ag department’s budget.”

Confusion rushes through his brain, “The Ag department? I wasn’t planning on cutting it, I’ve written in an extra 14 billion?”

She blinks once, twice, and then it all slides into place. 

“Oh,” Alex says, “But he doesn’t know that.”

“Exactly,” She says with a grin, “Once word come comes out that you’re planning on raising the Ag budget, which I already have a press release lined up for Thursday, we’re all set on his vote.”

“Excellent,” He says with a grin. Fuck, maybe they can do this. “Any other votes you think we can swing?”

Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’m supposed to meet with Few and Gunner from Georgia on Friday, but with Madison’s opposition, I’m not sure they’ll budge.”

“What about Wingate? Surely there’s something we can offer New Hampshire in exchange?”

“I’m honestly not sure, I spoke with Langdon on the phone yesterday and he seemed pretty convinced that Wingate was going to vote with his party.”

“So we’re fucked then?”

“I didn’t say that,” Angelica responds with a _ tsk tsk _ sound, “Are you really sure there’s no way we can convince Madison to get on board? He’s majority leader, and on his word alone, he’d be able to give us more than enough.”

“In case you forgot, Madison kind of hates me.”

“You were friends before all this, why are things so different now?”

Alexander rolls his eyes again, “Jefferson.”

At the mention of the Secretary of State, Angelica’s eyebrows arch. 

“Can we please not talk about this?” Alexander pleads, but she only responds with a smile. 

“Eliza told me about your, uh, predicament.”

“He’s not my soulma-”

“I know.” Angelica interrupts him, “And even if he was, I’d tell you to screw fate.”

This surprises him. He knows Angelica and Jefferson didn’t exactly get along, but for her to tell him to screw destiny? Interesting, she’d always been pretty conservative when it came to soulmates. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Alex, come on, it’s Jefferson. First off, you hate the guy. Also, he’s kind of like the biggest dick I’ve ever met, his policies are shit, and he’s made your life a living hell at the White House.”

He nods, “You’re not wrong.”

A scoff, “Of course, I’m not wrong. The point I’m trying to make is that there’s no way he’s your soulmate. Soulmates are perfect matches, your one true bond, and there’s no way you and Jefferson could stand each other long enough to spend the rest of your lives together.”

“I know.”

“And it’s not that I don’t want you to be happy,” She says, voice oddly comforting, “It’s just that I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

The reminder of his failed relationship with Eliza stings a little. He’s put it behind him, for the most part. He was stupid to think that getting involved with someone who wasn’t his soulmate was a good idea, but she hadn’t met Hercules yet and they were both wild and in need of emotional intimacy. 

And Alexander didn’t harbour any ill will towards either of them, but when she left Alexander for one of his best friends, his pride kind of took a hit. But they were soulmates, they were destined to be together, and he couldn’t hold that against them. 

“Ang, you know I’m not still upset about that.”

“Yeah, I know.” She says, but the frown doesn’t leave her face, “I’m just saying, I know Eliza’s rooting for the two of you, but I don’t think it would work.”

“It wouldn’t,” Alex responds, and there’s some sort of sinking feeling in his stomach that he can’t name. 

“And, besides,” She says with a grin, “You can always just marry me.”

He laughs at her words, knowing they’d fight just as much as Jefferson and him, but her words ring with an undercurrent of truth. 

“I know you’ll find your soulmate soon, Ang. It’s destiny, remember?”

She gives him a fond look that’s not entirely convinced but nods nonetheless. “Come on, you gotta help me think of ways to get Few and Gunn on board.”

When he gets back to the office, Alexander is vibrating with energy. He’s not entirely enthusiastic about the conversation with Angelica, but she had made some important points, and she’d gotten them one more vote. It didn’t seem like that much, but five votes seemed a hell of a lot easier than six, plus it gave him the hope that their cause wasn’t completely impossible. 

He’s exhausted, and it’s nearing seven o’clock, and his stomach is growling. He should have picked up some food when he was with Angelica, but the thought of actually getting enough senators on board was enough to make him forget about his stomach. 

Alex drops into his seat and shoots a quick email to Maria. 

**To: _mreynolds@exect.assistant.gov_**

**From: _aham@exect.gov_**

**Subject: It’s late, go home**

**Please see the subject. Have a good night. **

**A.Ham**

Then after a moment, and a long drawn out sigh, he types out a message to Jefferson.

**To: _thjefferson@exect.gov_**

**From: _aham@exect.gov_**

**I’m back let's get this shit over with. Please bring your terrible opinions & coffee.**

**Many thanks, **

**A.Ham**

It’s not even five minutes later that his door opens. Alexander looks up, unsurprised to see Jefferson standing before him. Before he can even say anything, Jefferson holds out a cup of coffee in his gloved hand. 

Alexander accepts it with a hesitant smile, and motions to the chair next to his desk. 

Jefferson takes the seat, pulls it close to Alex’s desk and flips through his own copy of the budget. 

“Page six, section four, subsection 5-” Jefferson starts and Alexander rolls his eyes. 

They work through the bill, starting on page six, for a long time. Each section and subsection is reanalyzed, thinking of ways to reduce the department budget or cut spending in a more general way. Alexander’s head throbs and his stomach has been growling for the past twenty minutes, he’s ready to call it a night but knows he can’t. They’ve got too much shit to get through to go home at, he looks at the clock, one in the morning. 

“Okay,” Alexander says as he shakes out his hand. He lost feeling in it about an hour ago, “I guess we can cut the Department of Interior. It might not make Gerald happy, but we can reallocate at least 500 grand from Education.”

“When was the last time you ate?” Jefferson asks suddenly, and Alexander has to blink a few times before he comprehends the words, and even then they still don’t make sense. 

“What?”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Alexander looks back at the clock, internally running the numbers through his head. He’d skipped breakfast and lunch, hadn’t had a snack either, so he guesses-

“Yesterday at lunch.”

He sees Jefferson inhale an inhuman amount of air and then force it from his mouth in the most dramatic sigh Alexander has ever seen from anyone, ever. 

“Why?” Alex asks after a moment. 

Jefferson rolls his eyes, “Because your stomach keeps growling every thirty seconds like clockwork, and it’s driving me fucking insane.”

“Sorry I’ve been a little preoccupied.” He bites back, although his tone lacks any heat. 

Jefferson simply looks at him for a moment, before picking up the phone from the desk and dialing a number from memory. 

Alexander watches him in confusion, until whoever is on the other side picks up. 

“Yes, hi, it’s Thomas Jefferson.”

Someone speaks on the other end, and Jefferson nods to himself, “Yes, go ahead and give me two seperate orders. Yeah, thank you, I’m sure they’ll let you up. Yes, okay, yeah just charge the card on file.” He hums and nods his head again, “Yes, okay, thank you. Have a good night.”

He sits the phone back on the stand and picks up his papers. Alexander stares at him for a long moment before the man looks up again. His expression is neutral, although it’s also somewhat curious. 

“What?” Jefferson asks after a second. 

“Who’d you call?”

Jefferson rolls his eyes again, and Jesus that’s like the twentieth time this hour. Alexander wants to make a comment about how his face will get stuck like that, but let’s the words die in his throat. No point in trying to pick a fight when they’re getting along for the most part. 

“I ordered takeout.”

Alexander blinks at him. “You ordered… takeout?”

“Yes, I ordered takeout. Your fucking stomach won’t shut up and it’s distracting me. Some of us actually want to get this done.”

“So you.. bought me food?”

Jefferson simply stares at him for a long moment before he shrugs, “I didn’t realize it was a big deal. Do you want me to call and cancel it?”

His expression is blank, but there’s some undercurrent of hurt in his words, that Alexander can’t explain. It instantly makes him feel bad, even though he knows he shouldn’t, but he’s quick to retract his words. 

“No, no- its, uh, it’s fine. Thank you.”

“Stop making it weird.” Jefferson says with a huff, “Okay section 18, subsection 3. I don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying here. Either rephrase or scratch the thing.”

“What? How do you not understand that?” Alexander says, indignant, “It’s literally like 3rd grade English!”

And so it goes. 

The food gets there around twenty minutes later, and Alex breaks into his styrofoam container as Jefferson chats up the delivery guy. He asks about the guy’s fucking kids for Christ’s sake, how often does this fucker order takeout to the office?

Alexander takes a bite of tso's chicken, and can’t help the low groan that slips from his mouth. He sees Jefferson look over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, before tipping the man - rather generously - and sending him on his way. 

“This is good.” Alexander says around a mouthful of noodles. 

“That’s why I ordered it.”

He huffs out a laugh, almost inhaling an entire noodle in the process, “Can you not be an asshole for, like, four seconds?”

Jefferson picks up his own chopsticks and stabs into his box of food, “Sorry, I can’t help it, it’s kind of my default setting. I thought you of all people would get that.”

“I’m only an asshole like ninety percent of the time, and only to people that deserve it.”

Jefferson looks considering as he chews on his food, after he swallows he says, “I’m not sure what I ever did to deserve such, uh, spiteful treatment.”

Alex snorts, “Oh please, you insulted me and half the cabinet on your first day here. I think that entitles me to a little bit of spitefulness.”

“You were insufferable the moment I met you. You literally wouldn’t shut up, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise until the cabinet meeting.”

Alexander, honest to God, flushes at Jefferson’s reminder of that day. Yeah, he had been a little nervous and it threw him off his game. And, yeah, he has a habit of running his mouth whenever he’s nervous, but nobodies perfect, so sue him?

“Well, you’ll have to forgive me, I was a little starstruck.” He says on instinct, regretting the words as soon as Jefferson raises an eyebrow, curious. 

“Starstruck you say?” He replies, his smirk insufferable and his tone smug. 

“Shut up, asshole.”

“Oh no, please tell me more. Pray tell, why exactly were you starstruck?”

Alex takes another bite of his food, chewing as slowly as possible as he tries to come up with an answer that doesn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. In the end, he decides any lie is probably worse than the truth, and decides that he’d rather have Jefferson make fun of him about the truth than some stupid lie he thought of in the spur of the moment. 

“Come on, I mean you’re _ you_.” Alexander says once he’s swallowed, “I read some of your work when I was in college. You’re _thee_ Thomas Jefferson, you wrote the damn Declaration, of course, I was going to be a little starstruck.”

“Wow _ Alexander_,” His voice is so smug Alexander considers scrapping the whole plan and jumping out the window, “I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”

“Trust me, you changed my opinion quite quickly.”

“Oh it’s okay, you don’t have to save face. I get it, honestly, who wouldn’t be thrilled to meet me?” His voice is teasing and obnoxious and Alex is ready to resign from his position. 

“Any one of your constituents.”

“If it’s any compensation, I was looking forward to meeting you too.” Jefferson says and it stops Alexander in his tracks. 

“You what?”

“I mean, I had read some of your stuff, and it was all shit, but you made a name for yourself. I mean, Madison and your defense of the Constitution was okay, even if you were definitely just pandering to the audience.”

“We did what it took-”

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.” Jefferson interrupts him, “All your opinions are shit, so naturally I was going to disagree with everything you said, but I don’t think terrible ideas make you any less of a decent writer.”

And Alexander thinks that might be the closest he’s going to get to a compliment from Jefferson, so he takes it at face value and snorts. 

“Thanks, asshole.”

Jefferson’s quiet for a moment, his expression open and amused. “I can’t believe you were starstruc-”

Alexander throws a chopstick at him and laughs when it smacks him in the side of the arm. 

“I hate you.” Jefferson says, but that amused smile is still on his face, and his words lack malice or ill will. 

“I know.” Alexander grins in response, “Uh, can you actually hand me that back, I need it to ea-”

It smacks him in the leg and he can’t escape the snort that leaves his mouth. 

“I hate you.” He says, bending down to pick the chopstick up from the floor. 

When he looks back up, Jefferson’s smiling at him. 

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only reason i’m able to get chapters out so (decently) fast is because of people who comment, like you.
> 
> so thank you.


	7. an introduction to power play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slowly makes progress so I can rip the rug out from all of ya*

He works late the next three days in a row. The 21st is approaching too quickly, and it feels like they don’t have enough time or people available to convince 5 more Republicans to switch sides. Angelica’s dinner meeting with Few and Gunner was mostly inconclusive, neither of them wanting to stir up drama in their party by voting against Madison. 

It all comes back to Madison. 

That Friday morning, Alexander takes it upon himself to set up a meeting with the Senator. He thinks, for just a second, about going through Jefferson. They’ve been getting on a little better since Monday when they had begun to work through the budget plan together. In the end, he decides he doesn’t want to jinx their newfound equilibrium. Alexander knows the assumption bill is a sore spot for Jefferson, and he decides - just this once - to leave him out of it. 

Madison calls him back around noon, and Alexander doesn’t even bother trying to hide his surprise when Maria transfers the call. 

“Senator Madison,” Alexander says into his receiver, “Thank you for getting back to me so soon.”

“Of course, Alexander.” James voice is nasally on the other end, and Alex assumes he must be getting over another cold. “I assume this is about the assumption bill? Some of my colleagues have mentioned that Angelica’s been speaking with them.”

Right to business then. Back before Jefferson, before Washington’s administration, he had actually been quite close to Madison. They were unlikely friends, both starch supporters of the new Constitution, and willing to do whatever it took to get the rest of the states to ratify. They had spent many nights in the office, pouring over documents, trying to write a persuasive justification for why the states needed this Constitution. They had been friends, unlikely allies, and Alexander isn’t lying when he thinks about how he sort of misses the old Madison. 

The Madison that was his friend before Jefferson came back from France. 

“Right,” Alex says, “I was wondering if you were busy this afternoon? I’d like to meet and try to discuss a compromise of some sort.”

He hears the flip of paper in the background, and wonders if it was Madison pretending to look through his schedule. Alexander knows - knew - him better than that. There was no way he showed up to work and didn’t immediately go through his agenda. 

“I’m actually coming by the White House in a little to meet Thomas for a late lunch. I could drop by your office, although I can’t promise there will be anything to compromise about.”

“The opportunity to discuss it is all I need.” Alexander says automatically. 

“Very well then.” Madison responds, “I’ll be there as soon as I get out of the Capitol.”

“Okay, see you soon.” Alexander says, gently placing the receiver back on the stand.

He had no illusions, the chances of him actually getting through to Madison and coming up with something that could work for both of them was slim to none. But he had to try. If the bill dies on the Senate floor, Alexander needs to be able to tell Washington that he tried his hardest, that he exhausted every effort, and Angelica’s meeting with Few and Gunner only further proved what he was starting to realize. There was no way he could get this bill passed without Madison. 

He works through the budget for the next fifteen minutes. Surprisingly, Jefferson had actually offered a few ideas that were doable. It still hadn’t been rearranged enough to justify the 30 billion dollar increase Jefferson wanted, but it was progress. And the best part was that they’ve made this much progress, made this compromise, and they hadn’t even bothered to inform Burr. To the best of Alexander’s knowledge, the man had absolutely no idea about the under the table deal they were working through. 

The thought of Burr, so ready to ride the fence to gain popularity, being left out because of his fence riding is enough to make him snort. Its as soon as the laugh leaves his throat, that his phone lights up. He rolls his eyes, picking up the receiver and listening to Maria’s voice on the other end. 

“Senator Madison’s here to see you, sir.”

“Thank you, please send him in.”

Not too seconds later, the door pushes open and Alexander rises from his seat. Madison is looking as put together as he always does, a simple slim cut grey suit that looks as bland as the rest of him. 

Alexander offers him a smile and extends his hand, “Senator Madison.”

Madison accepts it, his other hand curling around a white handkerchief, “Mr. Secretary, please tell me this conversation will be brief.”

Alex motions to one of the chairs in front of his desk and Madison takes it, leaving Alexander to sit down in his own office chair. The back squeaks under him and Alex’s smile twitches. He reminds himself that this is necessary. He doesn’t have another option. 

“Of course, Senator. I’ll try my best.”

“Okay then, what exactly are you wanting from me?” Madison asks, and his voice is a stark contrast to his words. His tone is emotionless, reasonable, where his words - from anyone else - would have been biting. 

“It’s quite obvious that as majority whip, I need your support in order to pass my assumption bill. It’s come to my attention that there’s a need for compromise, and I’m willing to work with you as much as I can.”

Madison’s face remains blank, but Alexander knows he must be surprised. Alexander isn’t one known for compromise, but here he is, all but begging Madison to join his cause. 

“And what kind of compromise exactly do you think would convince me to betray the Southern states in such a manor?”

“A compromise that gives you more than I get.” Alex answers simply, “I know the assumption bill favours the North, and that Republicans see the raise in Federal taxes as a gross overstep by the Treasury Department, so I am more than willing to offer other incentives that can balance out the rise in taxes.”

Madison looks considering at this, “What incentives do you propose?”

“Senator Gunner brought it to my attention that the biggest worry about the Assumption Bill is the negative effect it might have on the agriculture industry of the Southern states. In return for the passing of the bill, I’m offering a tax break for those in the field of agriculture. Of course this means that the taxes might be prolonged, but would insure that the Northern states pay more than the South. I’d also be willing to offer a set of government subsidies to offset any downturn in profit.”

He’s giving a lot away. In fact, he might be giving away more than he’s getting, but there’s more at stake here than just state debt. Getting the Assumption Bill passed would federalize the National Bank, and Alexander would be able to set up an independent line of credit. This bill needs to pass. It has to pass.

“What percent subsidies?”

“I’m negotiable.”

Madison nods, running his fingers along the length of the armchair. “Tax breaks and a set of subsidies? And here I thought generosity was above you, Mr. Secretary.”

Alexander grits his teeth at the backhanded comment, “Like I said, sir, I’m quite open to compromise.”

“And you’re desperate.” Madison says instinctively, “Which means you’re in no position for negotiations.”

“Are you taking the offer or not?” Alexander snaps, his patience with the Senator wearing thin. Madison might be a last ditch effort, but he’s not going to beg. 

“It’s a generous offer, Alexander.” Madison says with a hum, seemingly unconcerned by Alexander’s growing anger, “However, I just don’t think it’s enough. The Assumption Bill will be drastic for all industries in the South, not only the agriculture industry. So as much as I’d like to compromise here, I simply can’t agree.”

And, in that moment, it becomes abundantly clear that it doesn’t matter what Alexander offers. He could offer half the Treasury’s fund to make up the difference, and Madison still wouldn’t take it. 

It wasn’t politics, it was power play. 

“Fine,” Alexander says, flinching at the sound of his own voice, “Then get out of my office and stop wasting my time.”

Madison looks down at the watch on his hand and hums quietly before standing up. He pauses at the door, looking over his shoulder one last time and throwing him a smile. “Good luck on your bill, Alexander.”

His eyes twitches, but he manages to hold his tongue until the Senator leaves. 

As soon as the door shuts behind him, and Alexander is left with a pile of useless paperwork and the sinking feeling that this bill isn’t fucking going to pass, he lets his head fall against the desk. He lays there for thirty seconds, counting in his head, before he sits back up and cracks his fingers. 

He has four days. Four days to convince six hardcore Republicans to betray their majority whip. Four days to write like his life depends on it. Four days before the Assumption Bill is brought forth on the Senate floor. Four days. 

Like usual, falling into the headspace he needs is easy. Alexander focuses on his computer, typing, retyping, and reconfiguring the entire thing. 

When he comes back to himself, finally, the sun has long since sunk outside his window, and his office is illuminated solely by his laptop.

His back cracks uncomfortably in his chair, and Alex knows it’s been hours. He had met with Madison a little after one, and the clock on his desk tells him it’s almost midnight. He doesn’t really know why he’s bothering. Alex knows that no matter what he changes, no matter how he phrases it or what he gives away, Madison isn’t likely to join his cause anytime soon. But still, he has to try. He has to keep trying. 

“Why are you still here?” A voice asks from the door, and Alex blinks a few times to let his eyes adjust. He sees Jefferson, hovering just inside the door. He loosened his black and white tie, and unbuttoned the first button on his dress shirt. 

“Got shit to do.” Alex responds around a yawn. Fuck it’s late. 

“You working on the budget?” Jefferson asks, taking a step further into the room. Alexander watches him wary, not knowing if Madison had spoken to him about their earlier conversation. 

When he’s sure the emotion in Jefferson’s eyes is only curiosity and nothing more nefarious or mocking, Alexander shifts in his chair and shakes his head. 

“No, gotta work on the Assumption Bill.”

He sees Jefferson arch an eyebrow, “You’re still working on that? It’s due on the Senate floor any day.”

“I have four days.” He says automatically, the mantra he’d been repeating for the past hours falling out easily, “I still have time.”

“Have you even taken a break?” Jefferson asks, and as much as Alexander wants to snap at him, he just doesn’t have the energy to fight right now. 

“No.”

Jefferson comes closer, until he’s leaning against the desk to the right of Alexander’s chair, his side blocking half the screen of his laptop. “You should go home.”

“In case you’ve missed the news on Capitol Hill, I have a lot to do.”

“And you’re not going to get any of it done if you die of exhaustion before then.”

“I don’t need your pity.” Alex snaps in response, watching the way Jefferson curls his lips in response. 

He’s tired and hs nerves are fried, and he feels too close to the edge to think properly. And Jefferson is here, too close, and the smell of his cologne is suffocating Alexander, makes him feel like he’s drowning in it. 

_ He’s close enough to touch. _

Alexander pushes that thought from his head and lets his head drop against the back of his chair. 

“You said it yourself, you have four days. Killing yourself tonight isn’t going to make a difference. Go home, sleep, and then work on it tomorrow.”

“You’re allowed to say that because your job doesn’t rest in the hands of this Bill, Jefferson.”

Jefferson simply sighs, and scoots farther back on the desk. His hands - wrapped in those stupid grey gloves - grasp at the edge of the wood trim. “I get that, I do, but you’re not doing yourself any favours by fucking around here and making no progress.”

“Fuck off.” He says but the words lack bite. 

Jefferson shuts his laptop lid and Alex thanks every God he’s ever heard of that he wrote that on Google Docs. “What if I just sit here until you leave? Bet you wouldn’t get much done, huh?”

Alexander groans, finally giving in and pushing back from his desk. He’s not going to get anything else done, Jefferson here or not. But, still, that doesn’t mean he’s not going to complain the entire time. 

He packs up his satchel and rolls his eyes, biting out a, “Why do you hate me?” in the general direction of Jefferson. 

When he looks up, he finds Jefferson’s eyes on him. They’re dark, full of something that Alexander doesn’t recognize. “I don’t hate you.” He says simply, “I’ve never hated you.”

Alex blinks a few times, trying to clear his head. He’s too tired for this shit, too tired to read into those words like they mean something, and draps his satchel across his shoulder. 

“Alright, I’m leaving, let’s go.” He jerks his finger in the direction of the door. Jefferson pushes off his desk, following Alexander out the door. He walks him to the elevator, as if Alex isn’t a grown ass adult, and when they get to the first floor, Jefferson offers him a small smile. 

“Goodnight Alexander.”

The first name throws him for a loop, and he decides that if Jefferson gets to fuck with him by dropping it every so often, then he can fuck with him too. 

Alex offers him a small wave, “Night Thomas.”

He watches in amusement as the man’s steps halt and he casts a surprised look over his shoulder. Alexander, in his sleep deprived state, can only grin in response. 

Thomas, he thinks, might just stick with that. 

The next day, Alexander is vibrating with energy. His meeting with Madison hadn’t gone great, but he’d given it his all and he was ready to talk to Washington about it. Besides, maybe he could use Monroe to lobby some support behind him. 

It’s a late meeting, so he had dropped by the coffee shop on 17th to grab a pick me up before hand. It’s on his way back inside, after he’s swiped his card and walked through security, that he freezes. 

He bends down, picking up the pen that lays on the ground beside the elevators. He holds it in his hands, eyes running down the length of it. 

It’s a nice pen, probably expensive, but that’s not what gets his attention.

It’s a nice pen, yeah, but it's also green. 

The colour is dark green, wrapping around the grippy portion of the pen and it’s vibrant. Alexander swallows and the feeling is rough in his throat. Green, he’s finally seen green. The colour of grass, the colour of leaves, the colour of the shots Lafayette hates. 

He pockets the pen and promises to look into it later. He’s got places to be. 

Alex scans his badge and gets on the elevator. 

Everyone’s already in the conference room when he gets there, and Alex tries to calm himself down and not act flustered. He drops into his seat and pulls out his laptop. 

While it’s loading up, he looks up at Jefferson- no Thomas. 

Thomas is sitting, scrolling through his phone. He must feel Alex’s eyes on him because after a moment he looks up. 

Alex feels something tangle uncomfortable in his stomach, threatening to rise up his stomach and suffocate him. Thomas raises an eyebrow, sharp and pointed, and Alex feels a flush rush through his cheeks. Unable to find something to say, Alex simply throws him a little wave. 

Thomas snorts and gives him a little wave back. 

“Great, we can start.” Washington says, his voice rumbling through the room. “It’s late, so tonight’s meeting will be short. We’re simply getting an update on the budget and the Treasury department’s plans for the rest of the fiscal year. Alexander, you have the floor so please try to keep it concise.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.” Alexander starts, “The budget’s coming together. As of now, none of your budgets are changing- well with the exception of Secretary Jefferson’s.”

He sees Thomas give him a nod, and continues on, “As for plans for this fiscal year, I’m still working on passing my Assumption Bill to assume state debt. I’ll remind you all how vital this bill is, so if you have friends in Congress, feel free to encourage them to vote for it.”

“The bill is being brought forth soon?” Washinton says with a frown. 

“Yes, Your Excellency. We have three days.”

Washington’s frown grows, “You have three days and you still don’t have enough votes?”

“We’re almost there sir, I’m doing my best. It’s not my fault the Senate is being intransigent.”

“I don’t care what it takes. Get it through, Hamilton.” Washington’s voice is sharp. 

“And what happens if I can get congressional approval?” He responds, keeping his voice measured, although he’s about to burst through the seams. He’s pent up, feels the anger rising in his chest, and trying his hardest to keep it contained. 

“I’d assume they’d call for your removal.”

It's the reminder he didn’t need. Yes, the entire financial system of the United States stood on the Assumption Bill, but Alexander’s career did too. 

“Sir-”

“I’m sure we can find a compromise, Sir.” Thomas interrupts before Alexander can finish his thought. Which, considering the list of curses on the tip of his tongue, Alex supposes that might be for the best.

“Excellent.” Washington says with a nod, “That will be all. You’re dismissed.”

Alexander rises with indiginat anger still simmering in his chest. He packs up his laptop and quick paces back to his office. He has too much to do, too much to do, and he has to do it now. 

Alex takes a deep breath and hears the door shut behind him. He looks over his shoulder and sees Thomas behind him. 

“I have an idea.” Thomas says after a moment, and Alex only arches an eyebrow in response.

“You approve the budget, as is, with the reallocation of 20 billion to the State department, and I’ll push the Assumption Bill through congress, as is.”

“As is?” Alex questions. He hadn’t added a clause about subsidies or tax breaks. 

“As is.”

And that’s really all he needs to hear, isn’t it? His job depends on this, the country depends on this, and Thomas is handing it to him on a silver platter? The allocation of 20 billion is nothing compared to what Alexander can accomplish if he has the banks centralized. 

Surely Thomas must know he’s giving away more than he’s getting, but like hell is Alexander going to question it. 

“Fine,” He responds with a frown, “I’ll sign the budget and give it to Washington, _ but _he won’t sign it until my bill passes the Senate.”

Thomas’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, and after a moment, he nods. “That’s fine with me. As long as Washington signs it once the bill passes.”

“He will.”

Suddenly, a wave of hunger rushes through his stomach. He hadn’t realized how late it had already grown. Thomas is still in front of him, looking back at him questionably, and Alexander realizes that this might be the longest they’ve gone without trying to strangle each other. And, surprisingly, it’s been rather nice. 

Why not try to push the limit?

“What are you doing after work?”

“Well it’s seven, so after work is like right now.”

Alexander rolls his eyes, although his lips twitch up a little, “Fine, what are you doing right now?”

“Don’t really know, probably heading home.”

“Do you, uh,” He hesitates for a moment, “Do you want to go get something to eat?”

Thomas’s eyebrow arches, and it's definitely in surprise this time, “With you?”

“Yes with me, dipshit. I’m hungry and curious, so we can eat and you can tell me how you expect to convince five Republicans to vote for my bill.”

Thomas rolls his eyes at that, although he’s kind of smiling, and it sends a funny little wave of _ something _ through Alex’s chest. 

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s go now though, I’m not waiting five hours for you to finish whatever the fuck you’re working on.”

Alexander grins in response, ignoring the unrhythmic thump in his chest, grabs his jacket and follows Thomas out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think and feed my need for validation


	8. five guys and full disclosure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so addicted to writing this fic, I feel comfortable saying you all can probably look forward to updates at least once a week. I mean the damn thing is practically writing itself, plus I live for y'alls comments. They bring me so much joy and I love reading each and every one of them. 
> 
> So drop me a line and lmk what you think.

Since he was the one who had invited Thomas to join him, the other man insists on picking the restaurant. Alexander winces when Thomas says that. He knows their salaries are similar, but he knew enough about Thomas to know how the other man grew up, and how full his pockets were with or without this job. 

But Alexander never had that. He hadn’t grown up with a silver spoon up his ass, and even though his salary was more than enough to sustain him, he was careful with his money. Washington wouldn’t be President forever. He had another three years, seven if they were lucky, and then he’d probably be out of a job. It wasn’t like there were many Democrats lining up to have Alexander on their staff. He was influential in the party, mostly because of his work as Publius, but his influence didn’t change the fact that most prominent politicians couldn’t stand him. So he was careful. He only splurged on occasion, and the rest was saved. He didn’t have the luxury to act entitled. 

“Come on, it’s this way.” Thomas says, and Alexander quickens his steps. 

As much as he hates to admit it, the other man has quite a few inches on him, and for every step Thomas takes, Alexander takes two. 

“Where are we going?” He asks, again, just to see if he can get Thomas to give him some hint. It’s been awhile since he treated himself, so Alex supposes he can justify dropping twenty dollars on the cheapest salad at whatever high scale establishment Thomas picks. 

“I told you,” Thomas says with a dramatic sigh and a look back over his shoulder, “It’s a surprise.”

The man in front of him veers left on 15th street, and Alex feels his heart rate pick up a little. There’s a well known restaurant a couple blocks down. It was four and a half stars, and Alex had heard from Angelica that she easily dropped over $300 there. 

They hit H Street, and Alex is assuming the worst. He’s starting to tolerate Thomas a little more, but this is just another reminder of why they’re such different people. $300 dollars is nothing to Thomas, and it wouldn’t be much for Alexander either, if he seriously thought he had a career after Washington’s administration was over. Thomas has prospects, connections, he could run for President and people would vote for him. God knows why, considering his horrible politics, but he has the influence that Alex has always craved. He has the name. 

Just when Alexander is ready to give up hope, Thomas keeps walking, bypassing the expensive restaurant on H. Alex’s eyebrows jump in surprise. Okay then, he thinks. 

Thomas takes a right on I street, and Alexander has a sneaking suspicion that he knows where they’re going. He doesn’t want to assume, because if he’s right it’s very out of character for Thomas - although he supposes he doesn’t truly know enough about him to know what’s in character for him. 

Everything Alexander has learned about the other man came from secondary sources, and was mostly hearsay. He’d read his Wikipedia page, an article about his childhood on Politico, and he’s heard rumours. That’s it. Besides knowing that Thomas had a fucking hardon for the South and small governments, and was kind of an asshole, Alexander hadn’t learned anything about the man from himself. 

When Thomas stops short in front of a building that Alexander recognizes, he tries to hide his smile. 

“Five Guys?” He asks, trying to keep his voice even to hide his amusement. 

“Not good enough for you, Your Highness?” Thomas responds flippantly as he holds the door open for Alex. “I’ll have you know this is the best Five Guys in D.C.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it, and yeah man I love this place. Just wasn’t expecting Thee Thomas Jefferson to voluntarily eat here.”

Thomas just gives him a raised eyebrow and Alex notices, for the first time that night, that the man doesn’t look annoyed. He doesn’t look put out that he’s stuck at dinner with Alexander of all people. He looks amused, content even, and it makes something hot and shameful twist in his chest. But, more so, it makes him relax a little. Thomas wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to. They’re here for work, this is a business outing to discuss the compromise Thomas offered. 

And if Alex just so happens not to hate his life as they work together, well it’s really better for everyone. If they are here, getting along and getting work done, then it’s got to be enough to convince Washington to boot Burr’s ass onto the White House lawn, and that’s really all Alexander wants at the moment. 

Alex orders first, getting a cheeseburger with cajun style fries. He goes to pay, when Thomas bumps him out of the way and starts on his own order. 

“Here or to-go, Sir?” The man behind the counter asks. 

Thomas pulls out his wallet before Alex can interject, “Here.”

He hands over his card, a black American Express credit card, and Alex tries to keep his knees from going weak. He can’t be completely sure, but he’s never seen a credit card that wasn’t white or grey. And it honestly wouldn’t surprise him if Thomas had an Amex Black card anyway, but he still can’t believe someone could qualify for such a luxurious amenity. 

They grab a booth next to the window, and Alex’s leg bumps into Thomas. He pulls his leg away immediately, cursing the other man’s long ass limbs. Thomas doesn’t seem to notice, or even care, so Alexander says nothing and focuses his attention elsewhere. 

“Full disclosure,” Thomas says after a second, “I haven’t actually read the entire Assumption Bill.”

Alex’s eyelid twitches, “You what?”

“Don’t even think about getting shitty. It’s not my fault it's too damn long for anyone to understand. All those words in your vocabulary, but you obviously never learned concise.”

“It’s an important document!” Alex says, his voice too loud. He gets a few looks from the people at the table next to him, so he lowers his pitch as he continues, “Would you rather I not write every detail so some random can come into power and use it to justify an unenumerated power?”

Thomas seems to consider this for a moment, as he runs his  _ white  _ gloves over his beard. “I suppose you have a point, although I’m sure you could have slimmed it down a little. I lost interest after page eighteen.”

Alex huffs a breath from his nose, “Pathetic. You only made it to eighteen? Even Adams got to thirty-six.”

The man’s nose scrunches in distaste, “I think we both can agree that Adams has the time to spare.”

A voice in the back of Alex’s mind interrupts his thoughts.  _ He looks kind of cute like that.  _ No time to dwell on shit thoughts like that. He places that thought in the Thomas labeled box in his head, mentally wraps it with padlocks, and promises to look into it later. Preferably, when he’s not actually with the man. 

“Okay fair point. He literally does nothing.”

“Right?” Thomas agrees, his voice enthusiastic, “Do you know how many cabinet meetings he skips?”

“Like all of them.”

Thomas smiles and Alexander has no choice but to smile back. 

Once they get their food, and Alex shoves a handful of fries in his mouth, the conversation turns back to business. 

“Considering I haven’t read the entire bill, I need you to give me a run down so I can lobby it in Congress.” Thomas says, as he stabs his fork into his order of fries. 

Alexander hums, swallowing his food before he speaks, “It’s quite simply. The Federal government will assume all the states’ debts. Once we have an accurate number of the debt, both foreign and domestic, we can start levying taxes on luxury items, like alcohol, until we have enough money to pay it back.”

Thomas breaths a big sigh through his nose, “I don’t think that warrants over eighty pages of legislation.”

“It’s called being specific, and besides this is only pha-” He stops himself before he can finish that sentence. 

If Thomas knew this was only phase one, he’d take back his offer quicker than Alex could eat the remaining fries on his plate. He might not know a lot about Thomas Jefferson as a person, but he knows enough about his politics to know he’d never lobby for a bill that would - indirectly - lead to the establishment of a Federal Bank. Alexander needed to be smart about this. If he wanted his bank, he needed to get the Assumption Bill through. And if he wanted his Assumption Bill passed, Thomas was his last hope. 

Alex had already tried with Madison. The man was too headstrong to compromise. They had three days, almost two, and if Alex wanted this bill to get through Congress, Thomas Jefferson was the only person that could help him. Thomas had friends in the Senate. Thomas was friends with the one person who stood in the way of his bill passing. 

Thomas was the key. So, for once, Alexander backtracks. 

“What I meant to say is the bill I submitted to Congress was actually an edited version.” He says, “The original was over a hundred.”

“Well I’m sure the Senators and Representatives thank you.” Thomas says with a smirk, “Although they probably wish you didn’t write the damn thing in the first place.”

Alexander kicks Thomas in the shin, under the table, and grins at the subsequent hiss of pain. 

“Sorry,” Alex says, not even pretending to be, “My foot slipped.”

“You’re a little shit, and I regret buying your food.”

Alex snorts, “My foot seriously slipped!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Thomas says, but - once again - there’s nothing in his voice that would warrant anxiety on Alex’s part. He simply sounds amused, if not a little exasperated. 

“Come on, tell me what your plan is to pass the bill.”

Thomas purses his lips, considering, “Do you really care how I pass it? Aren’t you just happy it’s getting passed?”

Alex’s eyebrows furrow immediately, “Excuse me for being a little curious on how you’re going to get four Republicans to vote against Madison.”

The look of confusion that passes across Thomas’s face is textbook. Eyebrows furrowed, lips tugging down in the corners. “What?”

“Madison’s blocking the bill and he refuses to budge. Everyone I’ve spoken with doesn’t want to vote against their Majority Whip. So, pray tell, how are you going to pull that off?”

Thomas’s confusion melts into a soft smile, and Alex’s heart beats particularly hard in his chest. Hell, he’ll add that to the box too. 

“Madison won’t be a problem.”

And now he’s curiosity is peaked. “How exactly do you know that?”

“Your friends with the Schuyler’s right?” Thomas asks, “I saw Eliza in your office the other day.”

Alex pauses, “Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Excellent, then you won’t have a problem convincing Senator Schuyler to smash the rising movement to move the Capitol.”

“You don’t actually believe they’ll vote to move the Capitol, do you? The movement is small, they don’t even have enough members to have a quorum.”

“I’m well aware, but James wants to smash the entire thing before the public picks up on it.”

When Alex speaks, he does so slowly, like maybe he can help himself understand, “So, in order to support my bill, all Madison wants is Schuyler to make sure the Capitol stays on the Potomac? I find it hard to believe that’s all he asked for.”

“Oh it wasn’t,” Thomas says, and his lips quirk into a smile, “He wanted you to resign your position too, but I talked him out of that one. And he’s not supporting it, he’s just not going to stand in the way anymore. With Madison out of the opposition, I’ll go down and speak to the Senators whose votes I think can be swung.”

“And in return, you get your budget.”

“Exactly,” Thomas smiles, “And you get to keep your job.”

_ And my banks _ , he thinks. 

“Any chance you’ll tell me what you need the extra $20 billion for?”

Thomas’s eyes narrow, just a fraction, “Let’s just say it’s phase one of my plan.”

So Thomas has a secret phase too? That makes Alex feel a little better about his lie by omission. He’s under no illusions here. He knows that both of them are relentless, willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done. Just as Alexander is almost positive things will return to the way they were before once the budget and the Assumption Bill are passed. 

They’ll go back to ‘Hamilton’ and ‘Jefferson’, they’ll go back to fighting, they’ll go back to barely being able to be in the same room together. 

He watches the way Thomas squints at him, lips quirked in that same smile. “You gonna eat those fries?”

Alexander shakes his head, pushing the basket over towards Thomas. 

Yeah, he thinks, they’ll go back to hating each other. 

When Alexander gets back to his apartment after the dinner with Thomas, he drops into his bed - still clothed - and groans into his pillow. 

He’s been promising himself for days that he’ll set aside time to actually think about all that has happened. He promised himself he’d think about his soulmate situation, and he supposes he might as well think about the Thomas situation while he’s at it. 

If he’s going to overthink himself into misery, he might as well get it all done at once. 

He grabs his satchel from the floor, pulling out the green pen he had found on the floor earlier. His fingers grasp around it, and the metal is cool in his hand. 

The soulmate situation seems a little less complicated than the Thomas situation, so he decides to unpack that first. 

He’s seen four colours so far in the span of a couple of weeks. Gold, dark yellow, brown, and now green. He closes his eyes and feels the heavy metal of the pen in his hand. He’d seen colour in four places: a doorknob, an elevator button, a picture frame, and a lost pen. All of this leads Alexander to believe his earlier assumption was correct, and he thinks he might be okay with that. 

His soulmate, for whatever reason, didn’t want Alex to know who they were. That was fair, that was fine. There was nothing Alexander could do to directly get their attention and figure out what was going on in their head, but he could take Eliza’s advice. His reputation in the White House wasn’t great, and he wasn’t going to pretend to be something he was not, but it wouldn’t hurt to stop being a complete dick to people that didn’t deserve it. 

If the problem was him, if his soulmate didn’t want Alex to know who they were because it was Alexander, then he might be able to change that. He could be a little nicer. He could stop bitching out Adams’ intern. He could stop hogging the printers. He could shut the door when he argued with Thomas-

Thomas. 

Alex shuts the mental soulmate box, and opens the one labeled Thomas. 

There was a lot to unpack there. 

Firstly, Alexander decides to consider their newfound alliance of sorts. It was beneficial to both parties. It was classic mutualism, because they both benefited from the interaction. Alexander gets what he needs, his Assumption Bill passed through the Senate. In return, Thomas gets the budget he wanted. And neither of them had to go through Aaron Burr. It was a compromise and it was mutually assured destruction. If Thomas went back on his deal, Alex would tell Washington to tear up the budget. And Alex didn’t have much of an opportunity to  renegue. Thomas could simply tell Washington about their promise, and Washington would sign the budget into law. 

So that was pretty clean cut and simple to digest. They were doing this because it benefited them both. Compromise was essential, it was what Washington wanted, and it would end with Burr out of a job. 

Secondly, Alexander considers the man himself. While he had spent the past month hating Thomas Jefferson and every single thing he stood for, this compromise has brought forth some interesting revelations. Alex can admit that he has been enjoying the newfound alliance they’ve formed. It’s been, dare he say, nice. Thomas might not have been exactly what Alex originally thought he was. Yes, his politics were stupid as shit. Yes, he was an entitled asshole. Yes, they’d - no doubt - continue to have disagreements throughout Washington’s administration. However, Alexander might have underestimated him. He might be a pretentious asshole, but there was more to him than that. Alex has only seen a small bit of what he’s like behind the curtain, but what he’s seen was surprising. 

He already knew Thomas was attractive. He knew he was mysterious. But now Alexander knew more. He knew that Thomas could be charming, he knew that his smile was contagious, that he ordered takeout to the White House so often that he knew the delivery boy by name. He knew that he was more than what he thought. 

Which brings Alexander to a startling conclusion. He wouldn’t be opposed to getting to know Thomas better. He’d like to know what his favourite song is, how he ended up in politics, if he prefers Locke to Hobbes, and most of all - he wanted to know why he wore those damn gloves all the time. 

Did he wear them at his house? Did he wear them when he went out to lunch with Madison? Did he wear them when he slept?

Alexander opens his eyes and stares at the chipped white ceiling. This want, or whatever the hell it was, brought him to the next thought. 

His feelings. 

It feels very adolescent to describe them as such, but he can’t find a better word for it. The way his heart seems to clench in his chest when he sees Thomas smile. The way Thomas’s laugh makes butterflies tumble through his chest. The way he has to physically resist the urge to walk past Thomas’s office on his way back from the breakroom. 

Alexander doesn’t know exactly what it is that he’s feeling, and he’s not in a big rush to put a name to them either. For the moment, he’s content to just log the pattern and get to it when he gets to it. 

Maybe it’s simply a complication of working in such close proximity to an attractive man. Maybe it's because he’s discovering more of the real Thomas, and it’s surprising him and tricking his brain into reading into it. Maybe these feelings are just excitement at the prospect of having a potential new ally in the White House. Maybe he’s just making a bigger deal out of things than he needs to. 

He sighs heavily, watching the way his chest rises and falls, and stands from his bed. Alexander heads to the bathroom, ready to take a shower and go to bed. 

He closes the mental Thomas box, wraps it with a green bow, and promises to investigate further once he has more information. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO: There is a shit ton of symbolism in this fic. Like, I mean it is fucking full of it. So, would y'all be interested in an explanation of the different symbolism I've added? I personally think symbolism is super cool, but I didn't know if that would be something you'd like to see. (after this fic is complete as to not spoiler anything) Let me know! 
> 
> also 2.0: if you have any theories about what could be symbolic, tell me. I'd love to see what you're thinking.


	9. a vote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yesterday was Thanksgiving. I'd like to take a moment and say how thankful I am for all of you. Every single time you (yes you) comment or leave kudos or say hi on Tumblr, I am beyond thankful. I always say I write for myself, because I love it, but knowing you guys enjoy what I write is the most amazing thing ever. 
> 
> Anyway!! Let me know what you think! i don’t have a day off from work for awhile so reading your sweet comments might be the only thing that gets me through <3

Washington gives them the 21st off. Usually, Alexander would sweet talk his way past the security guard and go in anyway, but when Lafayette asks him to brunch that morning, Alexander relented. He hadn’t seen Lafayette in weeks and besides, he could get just as much done at home as he could in his office. 

They agree to meet at a little cafe off the corner of L and 17th street It’s a nice place, small business owned, cute and homey in its decor. Lafayette insisted upon going there as much as he could, claiming that the food there reminded him of France and his beloved Adrienne. Alexander liked it well enough, the coffee was better than anything he made at home and it didn’t take too much out of his pocket either. 

He gets there before Lafayette for once, and considering the decent weather, asks for a table outside. The back patio is wooden plated, with a large awning casting them in shade, while the building served to block most of the East bound wind. 

He orders a latte, and gives his usual waitress (Avery) an extra sly smile when she brings him an extra biscotti on the house. 

He’s on his phone, scrolling through his everfull email, when Lafayette arrives. The man gives him a hug, a little awkward consider Alexander’s sitting and Lafayette stands at over 6 foot, but it’s warm and sweet and makes him smile. 

“_Bonjour, mon ami,” _Lafayette says with a grin, pecking a chaste kiss on both his cheeks before dropping into the seat next to him. 

“Hey,” Alexander responds, pushing the rest of his biscotti away. “It’s been too long, man.” 

“_Oui_, tell me about it. I’ve heard from Angelica that you’ve been running yourself ragged. Thought we should let you relax for a day.” 

Alexander’s lips twitch up at that. Of course Angelica would feel the need to tell Lafayette all about it. He only hopes she spared him the details on Thomas. 

“Gotta do what it takes to get the job done. And, besides, it paid off. I think so at least.” He says with a small smile. “Oh, Peggy Shippen says hello, by the way.” 

“What a sweet girl. I miss her,” He says with a click of his tongue and a shake of his head, “I really should drop by and visit her sometime. I hope Arnold is treating her well.” 

“I think he is.” 

“He better. She’s too lovely to be treated as anything less than the most competent of employees.” Lafayette responds, “Your bill gets brought to the Senate today, _ non _?” 

“Yeah, hence me trying not to freak the fuck out.” Alexander says, wringing his hands in his lap. 

“Angelica said you didn’t have enough votes last time we spoke. Has that changed?” 

Alexander hesitates. He figures that if he doesn’t tell Lafayette about this newfound ally ship with Thomas, someone else is bound to. 

“I think so. I mean, I won’t know for sure until it’s actually brought on the floor, but Jefferson and I have worked out an agreement.” Alexander responds, purposely substituting Thomas’s last name. 

Lafayette raises an eyebrow nonetheless. “Jefferson and you managed to work something out?”

“Yeah, he said he’d throw his support behind the bill if I passed the budget how he wanted it. And I mean, it was kind of an amazing bargain on my part, so it’s not like I could refuse.” 

“Hm,” Lafayette hums, “Who would have thought you’d be able to compromise with someone like Jefferson.” 

“Don’t even, Laf, you’re friends with him.” 

“Yes and that’s exactly how I know that he’s about as stubborn as you are. I am happy for you though, I know how important this bill is for you.” 

Avery drops back by, and they both place their orders. Lafayette, of course, swaps coffee for bottomless mimosas and Alexander can barely resist the urge to roll his eyes. He’d like to drink, would love to even, but it’s the 21st and he’s got to keep a clear head. 

Once Avery disappears with their orders jotted on her notepad, Lafayette turns an appraising eye towards Alex, “So, let’s talk soulmates.” 

Alexander scoffs, “Is this you begging for an excuse to talk about Adrienne or to pry into my love life?” 

“Both actually. Adrienne is well, as lovely as ever, planning a trip to the states soon.” Lafayette says with a grin, “Now, how’s your search going?” 

Alex shifts in his seat, taking a pointedly long sip of his coffee. “It’s about the same.” 

“You haven’t seen anything new?” 

“I have actually. I saw brown the other day.” 

Lafayette’s face twitches in disdain, “Brown? A gross colour, if you ask me. Was it telling about who your soulmate might be?” 

“It was a picture frame on the second floor, so it could still be practically anyone.” 

“Your soulmate keeps choosing, uh, _ interesting _things to touch.” 

Alex sighs, “I think I’m being played with.” 

“Why would you think such a thing?” 

“I mean, why else would they pick such random ass things to touch? Eliza thinks they might be afraid of me. That I’ve scared them off somehow.” 

“Well, I mean you aren’t the most friendly person.” 

“I know, but like I don’t even know them. They could atleast fucking tell me who they are, no? If they know who I am, don’t I at least deserve the same knowledge.” 

“Perhaps. But maybe there’s a different reason. Maybe they aren’t trying to hide.” 

Alex rolls his eyes, “What’s with the random things, then?” 

“I don’t know, Alexander, as I am not them. But perhaps there is more to the story than you know.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe you’re right. Doesn’t make it any less fucking annoying though.” 

Avery drops off their food and the conversation turns lighter. Alexander eats, laughing with Lafayette over eggs and avocado toast, and it's the distraction from his bill that he needs. It’s nice, needed, and it makes him feel good. 

They split an hour later, Lafayette giving him a kiss on the cheek (which slips a little too close to his mouth) and a giggle of happiness. Alex promises to call him soon, and then he’s back on his way home to get some work done. 

He’s walking through his apartment door when his phone, situated between his laptop and his side, starts ringing. It’s his default ringtone and it might be the most annoying sound Alexander has ever heard. He drops his shit on the couch, pulling the phone to look at the screen. 

There’s a number he doesn’t recognize. For a moment, he considers letting it go to voicemail, but there’s a lingering thought in the back of his mind. _ What if it’s an emergency? What if someone’s in trouble? _

He sighs and slides his finger across the screen, holding the phone up to his ear. He’s expecting the worst, expecting it to be the hospital or the police. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, what are you doing?” Comes a voice on the other end. It takes him a second to place, and when he does, Alex’s lips twitch up at the sides. No wonder he didn’t have the number saved. 

“Thomas?”

“You don’t have my number saved? Ouch.”

Alexander chuckles into the phone, “Shut up, asshole, you never gave it to me.” He says as he drops his keys onto the dining room table, “How’d you even get my number?”

“Madison gave it to me.”

Alexander stops, unable to stop the small snort that falls from his mouth, “Madison gave it to you?”

“Yes, he did.” Thomas says with a hum, “Not the point, though. What are you doing?”

“Just got back from lunch, why?”

“You want to drop by the Capitol with me?”

“The Capitol?”

Thomas snorts. “Yeah the Capitol. As in the Capitol building. As in the building in the Capitol where the Legislative branch meets.”

“I know what the Capitol is, asshole.” Alexander rolls his eyes as he sits down at the bar in his kitchen, “What I meant is why are you going to the Capitol?”

“Well, Alexander, today is the 21st and - as you know - I’m the driving force behind the Republican votes you need. So I thought I would swing by and make sure everything’s good to go, and I thought you might like to come.”

Alexander sighs into the phone. He should be working, but he did want to go. And, in his defense, making sure his bill passed was actually doing his job. 

“Yeah, I’ll come.”

“Okay cool, you want to meet me or you want a lift?”

Alexander chuckles lightly into the phone, “Don’t you live in Georgetown? You know coming to get me would be driving out of your way, right?”

“I don’t mind the drive.” Thomas says, and he sounds genuine. "Just send me your address."

“Alright, you’ve convinced me. Just text me when you’re here and I’ll come out.”

“Okay, cool, see you in a bit.”

“Bye Thomas.”

“Later Alex.”

As soon as he hangs up, Alex texts Thomas his address and then turns to his laptop. He gets a bit of work done while he waits. Now that the budget and Assumption Bill are on their way to getting passed, Alexander hesitantly starts working on Phase 2. 

His banks. 

Technically, the creation of a Federal Reserve isn’t an expressed power in the Constitution. It’s not written for any of the branches, but Alexander’s already worked around that. He has an entire defense planned. Using Article I, Section 8, clause 18 of the Constitution, otherwise known as the elastic clause, he can lobby support in Congress. All in all, it’s the most convincing point of his argument. The elastic clause is simple, it allows Congress to make laws that are necessary to carry out other laws given to them in the Constitution. 

Senate elections are quickly approaching, and he’s hopeful that both chambers will be Democrat majority. Then, he can use this point to justify getting his banks. After that, its the easy part, convincing Washington to sign it into law. 

The bill itself is, of course, already written. It’s been sitting on his desk for the past month, already edited and ready for Philip Schuyler to bring it onto the floor. All that’s left is the carefully crafted defense he has to write. Alexander isn’t stupid. He knows that the Republicans would never go for such a thing. Thomas, himself, had made offhand comments in the press about how he’d support the Federalization of banking. 

So, in preparation for the nasty debate that is bound to happen, Alexander has been working on a defense. He’s already laid out his rationale, and now he’s thinking of every counter argument Thomas - or any of the other Republicans - could come up with, and countering them. It’s a tireless pursuit, but a necessary one, and one that he’s done before. 

It reminds him of writing the Federalist Papers. Those had been a little easier because he had Jay and Madison - even if the two of them didn’t contribute as much as he would have hoped. But he’s on his own now, and it’s up to him to get his second phase passed through Congress. 

Congressional approval seems to be a continuous task. 

He’s halfway through an argument about how the tenth amendment does leave all unenumerated powers to the states, but the National Bank wouldn’t be infringing upon the development of State banks, when his phone buzzes on the desk next to his laptop. 

Unknown Number: I’m here. Let’s go. 

Alexander finishes his sentence, saving the document, then grabs his coat and heads downstairs. 

Thomas is idling outside in his ridiculously expensive (and nice) car. Alex squints through the windshield to make sure it’s him, before rounding to the passenger side and climbing inside. 

“Hey.”

Alexander raises an unimpressed eyebrow and doesn’t bother hiding his laugh. “Hey yourself.”

Thomas pulls out of the parking garage with a twirl of his wrist on the steering wheel, “I’m surprised you came, honestly.”

“Oh, really? Why’s that?”

“Figured you’d be too busy doing God knows what. Probably working on some project that isn’t due until the end of Washington’s term.”

Alexander huffs a laugh, putting as much sarcasm in it as possible. “At least some of us plan ahead.”

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

Alexander hums in response, lets his lips twitch up just a little. Thomas is sending him a genuinely concerned look, so Alex gently knocks his arm against Thomas’s and sends him a knowing look. 

When Thomas sends him a smile in return, the nerves that run through his stomach feel like live wire, twisting and jerking deep in the pit of his belly. It’s not entirely unpleasant, so he leans into the feeling, letting it encompass him without looking into it too much. 

Business has yet to be called to order by the time they arrive, and Thomas leads him without pause through security, down the hallway, and onto the Senate floor. He makes a beeline for Madison, who’s standing by the far door, speaking with a couple pages that Alexander doesn’t recognize. 

“James,” Thomas gets him with a sincere smile and a half arm hug. Madison responds with a bright smile and a greeting of his own. 

It's a reminder Alexander didn’t need of their close friendship. It only makes sense, really, that they were such good friends. Both were wealthy Virginians from old money, making broad waves in the politics of D.C. Still, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to be friends with Madison. He’d learned the hard way that the man was a snake. 

“I see you brought Hamilton too,” Madison says, his voice quiet although Alex still picks up the words, “Unless the man followed you here?”

Thomas lets out a little snort at that and Alex feels a rush of anger. He composes himself quickly, offering his hand to Madison, who accepts it in a semi-friendly handshake. 

“We came together.” Alexander says, watching the way Madison’s brow arches slightly at the comment. 

He doesn’t say anything further besides an, “I see,” and a small hum that makes Alex’s eye twitch. 

“Play nice boys, I’m going to double check the swing votes and make sure everything’s going according to plan.” 

“I could come with you?” Alex offers immediately. Not only does he want to use the opportunity to rub elbows with some of the more persuadable Republicans, but he really doesn’t want to be left alone with Madison. 

“You should stay put. No need to remind everyone who they’re voting for, huh?” Thomas says, but the words are soft- almost teasing. 

Alex only nods and watches him leave, following the trim of his grey coat with his eyes. 

“So, you too seem to be getting along.” Madison says after a quiet moment. 

There’s some kind of probing tone beneath his words, and Alexander shoves his hands in his pockets with a shrug. He feels like he’s being subtly interrogated, and knowing Madison, it doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. 

“We are.” Alexander says, “Didn’t have much of a choice, I suppose.”

Madison makes a vague noise of amusement. “You both would have gotten along much sooner if you weren’t such an asshole when you met him.”

“Don’t act like you were there.” Alexander replies, his words almost a little too harsh. 

“Please, Alexander, Thomas told me all about your first meeting.” James’s tone is offhand, like his words aren’t the implication Alexander knows they are, “He was quite impressed with you before he moved back to the states, you know? I had spoke often of you when we were writing as Pubilus. Even though he vehemently opposed everything you stood for, he was quite interested in what you were saying.”

It's the same thing Thomas, himself, had admitted many nights ago. But to hear from Madison, Thomas’s best friend, that he had read Alexander’s writings? It sends another pulse of sparks through that live wire in his stomach, which is - frankly - ridiculous. Sure, if someone had told him at that time, long ago, that Thomas Jefferson was reading his work, Alexander might have fangirled a little. But this wasn’t years ago, and Alexander wasn’t the naive kind of person he had been during the convention in Pensylvania. The knowledge of Thomas’s previous interest in his writing shouldn’t be affecting him so. 

“We were both assholes, but compromise drives men of opposing views to allyship.” Alexander says, “And Thomas knows of my interest in him prior to Washington’s administration as well.”

Madison’s expression shifts to something new. Alexander can’t get an exact read on it, never has he been able to read Madison easily, but it looks something suspiciously close to gleeful amusement. It pushes Alexander even closer to the edge, a warning to watch where he steps, lest he get burned. 

Madison hums again, that same expression on his face, “Your _ interest _ in him, huh?”

Alexander feels his face flush at the inflection in his voice, but before he can protest or cause a scene, the Pro-Temp smacks his gavel and calls business to order. Madison offers him another smile. 

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Secretary.”

Alexander gives him a nod, watches as the Senators slowly make their way to their assigned chairs. His eyes catch on Thomas, who stands near the front, talking to a young woman. She’s beautiful, long black hair that falls around her face in loose curls and glossy pale grey lips. It takes Alexander a second before he’s able to recall her name. 

Martha Wayles. The second Republican Senator from Virginia. 

She laughs at something Thomas says, reaching out and laying her hand on his arm. Thomas is smiling too, his posture relaxed as he leans against the chair behind him, talking animatedly with one hand. 

The Pro Temp smacks the gavel again and Thomas shoots her an apologetic look, but she only grins in responds. Alexander watches, something hot shimmering in his chest, as Thomas leans down to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. She brushes her fingers along his cheek in a gesture that seems more than friendly, and Alex’s heart twists harsh in his chest. 

Thomas says something else before he’s turning away from her. His eyes catch Alexander mid step, and Thomas pauses. His face shifts, and he looks confused and almost, dare Alex say, concerned. 

It takes a minute for Alexander to recognize that Thomas’s look is directed at him, and then he quickly comes to the conclusion that the feeling in his chest - something very close to jealousy he fears - is written all over his face. He schools his expression immediately, giving Thomas a beckoning wave. 

The other man approaches him without a look back, but Alexander can see the way Martha looks over her shoulder at Thomas’s retreating figure. 

“Everything okay?” Thomas asks as he joins Alexander, leading him out the door and up the stairs right outside. 

“Course,” Alex says easily, “Everything’s fine.”

Thomas gives him a doubtful look, but says nothing else as they take their seats in the balcony. They’re right on the edge, giving them a perfect view of the floor below. 

For what is the one hundredth time in the past week, Alexander feels dread creep into his stomach. He can’t believe he’s put this must trust into Thomas Jefferson of all people, the person who - not two weeks ago - was his literal rival. He wonders, only for a second, if this is all some insane ploy to humiliate him. If Thomas had actually only rounded up opposition for his bill, and tricked Alex into being here to shove the humiliation in his face. 

Although, he reasons, that sounds a little extreme. Even for someone like Thomas. 

And while he knows Thomas has the leeway to pull something like this off, there is still the doubt that sinks deep into his chest. Mixing with his anxiety and leaving him nauseous. 

“Are you confident it will pass?” Alexander asks, leaning closer to Thomas and keeping his voice low. A wave of the man’s cologne invades Alex’s nose and it’s nice. 

Thomas snorts, sending him a disbelieving look and rolling his eyes, “You know who you’re talking to, right?” 

Alexander offers him a small smile, watches the way Thomas’s eyes roam across his face. Alex allows himself the moment to do the same, looks at the curve of Thomas’s nose, the crease between his brows, and then for a second, his eyes fall to Thomas’s lips. They look nice. Plump and full, a dark grey colour that makes Alex wonder what they look like in actual colour. Thomas is so close. Close enough that if Alex were to move just a little further… 

He realizes with a jolt how close they are. Alexander feels his face flush, and without moving away, lets his eyes dart back to Thomas’s. Thomas, too, hasn’t moved away and he’s looking at Alex with a curious expression on his face. After a second, Thomas simply arches an eyebrow and his lips quirk just slightly. 

“Alright, straight to business today y’all.” Pro Temp Henry says from the stand and Alexander quickly turns to face away from Thomas, trying not to think about the fact that neither of them have moved further away in distance. 

Henry runs through a view items on the agenda, before they finally bring the bill onto the floor. Schuyler advocates for Senate bill 1654 and Alex feels a rush of affection for the Schuyler Sisters’ father. He was a good man, doing Alexander a favour because he realized how vital it was to their young nation. 

The debate is bypassed, having already been brought to committee, and when one of the Senators from Rhode Island suggests they go ahead and vote, everyone is quick to agree. 

“All those in favour of Senate Bill S.1654?” Henry says, and there is a collective “aye” following his words. 

“Those opposed?”

Once again, his words are followed by a collective “nay”. Alexander takes a deep breath, feels his hands tighten on the arm rest next to him. 

“Relax.” Thomas whispers into his ear, his breath warm and comforting. Alexander relaxes. 

“Spoken vote.” Henry says, “Senator Basset?”

“Nay.”

“Senator Butler?”

“Aye.”

And so it goes. Pro Temp Henry makes his way down the list of Senators, and with each vote Alexander feels his anxiety rise tenfold. Eventually they’re down to the last three Senators, all Republicans, and Alexander only needs one more vote for the majority. He holds his breath as Henry continues. 

“Senator Strong?”

Alexander clenches his eyes tightly shut. 

“Aye.”

“Senator Wayles?”

“Aye.”

“Senator Wingate?”

“Aye.”

The gavel slams, hard, against the desk and it forces Alex’s eyes open. 

“Senate bill 1654 passes with majority to the House for first reading.” Henry says, and he slams the gavel once more, and it seems like everything falls into place. 

Alexander stands from the chair, hears the chatter of shocked Republican constituents behind him, but he can’t pay them any mind. His bill passed. Thomas had gotten his bill passed. 

He turns to the man next to him, watching as Thomas offers him a knowing smile as he stands from his chair too. 

“What’d I tell you?”

He’s shocked, although he supposes he shouldn’t be. He still can’t quite fathom that his fucking bill passed. Somehow in his disbelief, Alexander thinks its a good idea to hug Thomas. He doesn’t remember initiating the hug, but when he regains sense a moment later, he’s pressed against Thomas’s (hard, strong,) chest. Thomas is frozen against him, and Alexander flushes with mortification. They had formed an unlikely allyship, but this grosely overdrew their boundaries. 

He pulls away immediately, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. 

“Sorry.” Alexander rasps quietly. He expects Thomas to make a joke or a snide comment, and he’s hesitant to look up at him. When Thomas doesn’t say anything for a moment, Alexander forces his gaze up. 

He finds Thomas, lips softly pursed, but he’s not looking at Alexander. Instead, he’s looking down at his own clothes. Alex’s brow furrows, wondering if Thomas is going to make another snide comment - like the night at the bar - about how his clothing is ruined now that they have Alexander’s cooties or whatever. 

Instead, when Thomas finally looks back up at him, he’s got a small smile on his face and his eyes reflect something that looks almost fond. 

“Are you needed back at work?” Thomas asks after a second. 

“No.” Alexander replies, eyebrow arching. 

“Come on then.” Thomas says, bumping his shoulder against Alex’s, “Drinks on me. We’re celebrating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want more information on Hamilton's defense of his national bank, [here's](http://www.digitalhistory.uh.edu/teachers/lesson_plans/pdfs/unit3_4.pdf) a good source.
> 
> also, bonus points if you can catch the one word reference to Hamilton's terrible spelling ;)


	10. red wine and whatever you got

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay ive been reworking my outline so the chapter count is subject to addition. But, we are roughly, halfway there. 
> 
> Let me know whatcha think?
> 
> (if I had a dollar for every time Madison wanted to smack these two, id take you all out for dinner)

They go to Rocky’s. 

When they get there, it is still mostly empty. There’s a couple people sitting at the bar, and a guy standing by the jukebox, but it's nowhere near as crowded as its bound to be that night. It’s not that surprising considering it's just a little after seven, and Alex easily snags his usual booth in the back. Thomas drops into the booth across from him, and Anna appears at the end of their table almost as soon as Alex’s ass hits the cushion. 

“It’s been awhile, Alex. Here I thought you went sober.” She says with a grin, an empty tray balanced against her hip, her long hair hazardously tied up in a bun. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” He responds with an easy smile and a flutter of his eyelashes, which only makes Anna roll her eyes, “Work’s been pretty hectic, so I’ve been prioritizing it over fun recently.”

She doesn’t look impressed. “Like you didn’t do that before? And, trust me, I’m not disappointed. You and the rest of the boys practically pay my rent with your beer consumption.” Anna tells him, “Anyway, what can I get you two?”

“Table side service now? I’m impressed.” Alexander says with a shit eating grin, “Just give me something on tap.”

“Don’t get used to it. I’m bored and need interaction.” She gives him a look before turning to Thomas, “And you?”

“Red wine, whatever you got.”

When she walks away, Alexander snorts. “Red wine at a bar like this? You pretentious fucker.”

“Hey now, that’s not very nice, Alexander. Here I thought we were getting along.” Thomas says, although he’s smiling, and he rolls Alex’s name in a way that has him swallowing rough. “Besides, I was born pretentious, and living in France didn’t help.”

And Alex sometimes actually forgets that Thomas had spent four years in France. He supposes coming back must have been a bit of a rough change of pace. 

“Do you miss it?” He asks, genuinely wanting to know. 

“Miss what?”

“France?”

Thomas rests his head in his hand, black gloves curling around his chin, and he lets out a long suffering sigh. “Yeah. I mean, the entire time I was there, I was homesick for Virginia, but now that I’m back, I’m not even at Monticello. But, yeah, I do miss it. The food was better, the people too.”

Alex can only smile at that last part, “I heard all about the people you _ met _ in France.”

Thomas quirks an eyebrow, “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Anna interrupts with their drinks, and Alex takes a pointedly long sip from his glass before he answers. “Let’s just say, rumour has it you were a bit of an American slut in Paris.”

The other man rolls his eyes fondly, “American in Paris for sure, but I don’t know if I’d call myself a slut. I went out, met people and everything, but I wouldn’t call anything I did slutty.” He says, “What exactly do the rumours say?”

“Oh, the usual you know, a new bedmate every night. Women fawning over you in the street and passing out from the charming smiles you throw their way.. Lot’s of flirting and lots of sleeping around.”

Thomas laughs around the rim of his wine glass. “Definitely not true. I mean, there was a bit of sleeping around and a lot of flirting, but nothing close to a new bedmate every night.”

Thomas takes a sip from his glass, and Alex watches the way his designer gloves curl around the stem. He wants to ask if he wore the gloves back in France, but refrains. Even Alex can admit that it’s not the most appropriate time. (And none of his business, he reminds himself for the one hundredth time.)

Instead he settles on, “Hey, nothing wrong with a healthy sex life.”

Thomas snorts into his glass, “That was a long time ago, anyway.”

It’s a tell. A little bit of ‘too much information’ that Alexander is sure Thomas hadn’t meant to give away. His hypothesis is only confirmed when he looks back up from his mug and sees a dark grey blush on the other man’s cheeks. 

So Thomas hasn’t had sex with anyone in awhile. And he was embarrassed by that fact. The first part has Alexander’s stomach tightening in what he assumes is relieved anxiety. The second part makes him want to do something stupid and tell Thomas he could change that. 

“I know how it is, man.” Alex says, hoping to alleviate a bit of the man’s embarrassment by offering a little bit of his own. Come to think of it, Alex doesn’t know when the last time he got laid was, “Besides, you could always just be an American slut in America. There are a lot of girls around here that’d die for your attention.” 

“I don’t just sleep with girls, you know.” Thomas says after a moment, and Alex feels that nervous anxiety rise further in his stomach. Thomas isn’t straight. What an interesting development.

“Well then,” Alex replies, “There are a lot of girls, and guys, that would be vying for you to court them.”

He sees Thomas roll his eyes again, and Alex can’t help but smile into his half full glass. 

“Did you really just say courting? Just because I’m a Southern Republican does not mean I’m trying to ‘court’ someone. You could just say date.”

Alex sighs in faux annoyance, “Okay. There are a lot of people around here you could date. I mean you’re not terrible to look at, and I guess you’re intelligent - so if they have a shitty politics kink, I’m sure you’d be a catch.”

Thomas’s expression is amused as he takes another sip from his glass. “That sounded an awful lot like a compliment, Alexander.”

“Don’t let it get to your ego.”

Thomas is still smiling, but it dims just a little in the corners. Before Alex can wonder if he’s said something wrong, Thomas speaks again. 

“I could, technically, date but things are a little more difficult now.”

Alex raises an eyebrow, “How so?”

Thomas gives him an almost sheepish look, “Let’s just say it’s complicated.”

Alexander watches the way his fingers flex around the glass in his hand, and how Thomas’s eyes seem to be staring into the sleeve of his own shirt as if it would catch on fire. Feeling a little risky and a little bold, Alexander takes a slow breath. 

“Does it, uh, does it have anything to do with your gloves?”

He hears Thomas’s inhale of breath, sees the way his eyes snap to Alex’s. For a moment, he’s severely worried that he’s crossed a line. He should have known better. Talking about someone’s soulmate, especially the soulmate of someone you weren’t close with, was the worst kind of taboo. He should have just kept his mouth shut, he should have fucking learned- 

“Yeah.” Thomas says simply, and he doesn’t sound mad or offended. He just sounds resigned. 

Hearing Thomas’s voice, which is usually so full of some kind of passion, so empty and tired, makes Alex’s heart clench hard in his chest. He just sounds so sad and resigned, like he’s a cynic that’s given up on things getting better. Jesus Christ, was his soulmate like dead or something? 

He winces at the thought. Best not to push him any further, Alex decides. But his heart is still heavy in his chest, and Thomas still has that look on his face, and Alex has to do something to make things better. 

Alex takes another risk, reaching across the table and sitting his hand, slowly, on top of Thomas’s where it rests - palm down - on the wooden table. The glove is warm and soft beneath his hand, and Alex almost wishes Thomas weren’t wearing them so he could feel the warm skin hidden by the fabric. 

“You don’t have to talk about it, but maybe just keep some hope. Even terrible odds are still odds.” Alex says, and it doesn’t sound like the right thing to have said, but it has the desired effect. 

Thomas laughs, not moving his hand from under Alex’s, and rolls his eyes. “Jesus, these celebratory drinks got depressing as shit.”

Alex’s grin returns and he squeezes Thomas’s hand, once, before pulling his away. “You’re right. We are celebrating, and not just the assumption bill. We’re also celebrating your budget, which Washington is signing tomorrow.”

Thomas’s smile is back, not quite as bright as before, but still just as breathtaki-er, not the word he’s looking for. Just as nice, perhaps. 

“It’s about time.” Thomas says, flexing the hand that Alex had been holding and looking at his glove, “Another round then?”

“Yeah,” Alex smiles, “Another round.”

The next morning comes too quick. He gets to the office around seven-thirty, which is probably the latest he’s ever come in before. He sits down at his desk, cracking his fingers, and opening his laptop. The first item on his agenda for the day is get Washington’s support for phase 2. He takes the opportunity, as soon as he finishes his coffee, to write Washington an email. 

**To: ** **gwash@exect.gov  
** **From: ** **aham@exect.gov  
** **Subject: Establishing a National Bank**

**Your Excellency, **

**Now that my Assumption Bill has passed Congress, I come to you with the next step in my plan to set up the financial system of the United States of America. The next step is to establish a National Bank, which will not only raise revenue through borrowing, but will also serve to unify the currency, loan to the government, and be a place where the government can deposit their funds. **

**While this bill will need congressional support, I want to know that I have your support as well. Please let me know what I need to do to make that happen. **

**Thank you. **

**Alexander Hamilton**

After the email sends, he dives into his defense of the bill. Elections are next week, and he needs to be ready. 

It’s sometime, hours later, when there’s a quick knock on his door. Alex winces at the sound, having been so caught up in his own head. He looks up from his paperwork, and tries to settle the growing excitement in his chest. 

“Yeah?” 

The door opens and Aaron Burr steps into his office. 

Alex grinds his teeth together, for once purposely holding his tongue. He smooths the paper in front of him and offers a smile he doesn’t feel. 

“Mr. Burr, sir, to what do I owe the pleasure.” 

Burr shuffles a little, looking as uncomfortable as ever, and comes around to sit far too gracefully in the chair across from Alex. 

“Thought I’d drop in and check to see how things are going. You haven’t responded to my emails.” 

His emails. The same emails that have been sitting, unopened, in Alex’s inbox for weeks now. 

“Your emails? Are you sure you have the right address? I haven’t gotten anything.” 

“I’ll be sure to check when I get back to my office.” Burr says, like it’s nothing of importance. Like he doesn’t know Alexander’s been ignoring them on purpose. “How’s your work going?” 

“It’s fine.” 

Burr’s mouth twitches just a little. A tell he’d probably chastise himself for later. “Fine? I heard you made some important progress yesterday.” 

“Oh yes, the assumption bill. I’m pleased to see it passed the Senate, and I’m sure it will pass the House easily.” 

Burr looks at him for a long moment before nodding, “It’s interesting that you got it passed. I was surprised when I heard that several establishment Republicans voted in favour of it.” 

“Apparently hard work pays off.” Alex says easily, “And apparently anyone can be convinced.” 

Burr’s face is blank when he responds. “I have to admit, I’m quite curious how you managed to pull that off.” 

Alexander allows a genuine smile. This is the moment he’s been waiting for. Even if he didn’t tell Burr himself, the man’s smart enough to figure it out once Washington passes the budget. 

“Well, Thomas and Madison sure do have a lot of pull with their party.” 

He sees that lip twitch again. 

“_Thomas _ and Madison?” 

“Yes, you see Thomas and I were able to come up with a good compromise.” 

“What could you possibly offer them that they’d agree to such a thing?” Burr asks, his voice cool but Alexander knows he must be shaken. It was his job to get them to compromise, and Alex had bypassed him entirely. It’s much more satisfying than he was expecting. 

“His budget in return for my bill.” 

“That’s all they asked for?” 

Alex shrugs, “Yes.” 

“They both gave a lot more than they got in return, you know?” Burr replies with that ever present blank face. 

“Oh, I’m aware. That’s what made it so easy to agree to. And, besides, being allies with the two most powerful Republicans in the country is sure to be useful in the future. It really is great that we were able to work together,” Alexander says, keeping his voice blank, “It’s only a shame you couldn’t contribute to our success.” 

He sees Burr’s jaw clench. “Well, I’m glad you were able to agree for once.” He says as he rises from the chair, “I should get going, it was nice to see you, as always, Alexander.” 

Alex grins in return, “It was a pleasure, Burr.” 

When Burr leaves and Alexander is left alone in his office, he sinks down in his office chair. He’s pleased with the conversation, and the shit eating grin doesn’t seem like it’s going to leave his face anytime soon, but it's a victory that isn’t his alone, and he doesn’t want to reap the petty victory by himself. 

It’s almost noon, and Alexander has an idea. He types out a quick text to Peggy and then sends it. 

_ To Pegs: Has Thomas had lunch yet???? _

After the message sends, he wrings his desk drawers open, searching for a specific sheet of white paper. He finds it, only a moment later, paperclipped to this copy of the latest version of the budget proposal. Alexander lets out a pleased sigh, eyes reading over the top of the takeout menu. And there, right where he expected it, is a number. 

He picks his office phone up off the desk, dialing the number with lightning quick fingers. It rings a couple of times before it clicks and someone on the other end picks up. 

“Tso’s, can I help you?” 

Alexander furrows his brow, trying to remember what Thomas had ordered that night so long ago, “Hi, uh, this is weird but can I get two orders of whatever Thomas Jefferson usually gets?”

The woman on the other end sounds amused, “Two Jeffersons? Anything else I can get you?”

And that was easier than he expected. Jesus, how much takeout does this guy order if the restaurant knows his order by name?

“No, that’s all.”

“Okay, great. I assume you want it delivered to the White House?”

Alex smiles, “Yes, but instead of Jefferson’s office, can you bring it to office 312?”

“Of course, sir. Will you be paying cash or card?”

He thinks he has cash in his wallet, but he doesn’t know if its enough. “Card.”

“Okay, we’ll have it there in about fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you so much,” Alexander replies, “Have a great day.”

“You too.”

Once he hangs up, Alexander sits there for a moment. His phone vibrates on his desk and he checks the new message. 

_ From Pegs: no, y? _

Perfect then. Alex’s smile curves again, and he catches the way his fingers drum insistent on the desk in front of him. 

Wait. 

The smile drops just a bit. 

Technically, there allyship was over. The bill passed the Senate yesterday, and Washington was set to sign the new budget by the end of the day. Technically, they were no longer being forced to work together. And yet here Alex was, ordering them takeout and planning to spend lunch with the man? He knows why, but it's a hard thing to admit. 

As much as it pains him to actually think the words, Alex knows they’re true. He’s not doing this because of Thomas’s influence. He’s not working on some long term plan here to keep Thomas in his pocket. He just likes being on good terms with him, he likes being friends - or whatever they are - with him. 

It's a stark contradiction to the way Alexander had felt only weeks ago. Where he had hated Thomas, loathed the ground he walked on, now he’s actively seeking out his company. Alex sighs, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. 

He likes spending time with Thomas. He likes the way Thomas makes him feel, likes having the entirety of the man’s attention. He wants, even with nothing political to gain, to be friends with him. 

Alex can’t help the stupid snort that leaves his mouth. Hamilton and Jefferson, friends? What a completely idiotic thing to happen. But Alexander doesn’t see the harm. Thomas has been nice recently, and it's been fun being with him, and the little display of vulnerability last night just goes to prove that Thomas is more than every insult Alex has ever thrown at him from his glass house. 

So fuck it. If Alexander Hamilton wants to befriend Thomas Jefferson for good, he was going to do it. 

“I’m Goddamn Alexander motherfucking Hamilton, I’m an adult, and I can do whatever I damn well please.” He mutters to himself, like there’s someone else in the room he needs to convince. 

There wasn’t really a downside. He got a friend, he got to spend more time with Thomas, and he got political influence in Congress. 

Which brings him to another point, he really doesn’t want to think about. He doesn’t know what was happening to him yesterday, but he had obviously lost his damn mind. Not only had he hugged Thomas, but he had been jealous. The way Martha had smiled at him, and the way Thomas smiled back. He had looked so carefree, so happy. Even thinking about it causes sparks of indignant _ something _ to rise in his chest. He wasn’t jealous that Thomas smiled at her, he was envious. 

He wanted Thomas to look at him like that. 

Which, now that he’s actually thought that to himself, is a lot to unpack. But Alexander knows himself well enough not to read too deep into what he’s feeling. There’s nothing romantic about his feelings, he’s not jealous that Martha is a pretty young Senator from old money like Thomas. He’s not jealous that she’s beautiful and competent and would make a perfect match for Thomas. He’s not jealous. He’s just possessive when it comes to friendships. That’s it. That’s all there is. 

There’s another knock on his door, and Alexander calls to them to enter. 

It’s the same man that delivered their food last time, and Alex offers him a smile. 

“Got your food for you, Mr. Secretary.” The man says, as Alex rises from his desk and rounds to the otherside. 

He takes the bag of takeout, dropping it onto his desk and handing over his card. As the man slides it through the card reader on his phone, Alex takes the moment to find out some information. 

“Thomas orders takeout here a lot, no?”

The man, Josiah his shirt reads, gives him a grin. “Every Tuesday around midnight when he’s working late.”

Alex raises an eyebrow, swiping his finger across the screen in a sloppy replication of his signature. “Every Tuesday?”

“Every Tuesday.”

He hums to himself, handing over the phone and reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Alex thumbs through his bills, before handing over a crisp twenty. 

Josiah raises an eyebrow at the tip, no doubt wondering why Alex is tipping twenty dollars on an order that was just under sixteen, but he says nothing. 

“Thanks man, have a good one.”

Josiah returns his smile as he leaves. “You too, Mr. Secretary.”

Once the man is gone, Alexander grabs the takeout bag from his desk and heads down the hallway. Peggy’s not at her desk, and Thomas’s door is cracked open. He steps up to it, about to knock when he hears voices. 

“I’m handling things just fine, I’d say.” Thomas’s voice says, and there’s the tapping of a pen against wood. 

“I don’t know if I’d consider avoidance 'handling things just fine,’ Thomas.” Another voice says, and Alex quickly places it as James Madison’s. 

“I have no idea what you mean, Jemmy. I’d say things are quite swell, no? Besides, I don’t know what else you would expect me to do about it?”

Alexander knows this isn’t a conversation meant for his ears, but he’s hesitant to interrupt and even more hesitant to actually have to speak with Madison again. 

“I don’t know, maybe tell him? Don’t you think he deserves to know?” Madison says, his voice not unfeeling, but more logical than anything else. Like it was a point anyone could draw from the given information. 

Thomas’s reply is instant, and Alex can hear the annoyance in his tone. “It’s my decision. I’ve already told you.”

“Why don’t you want him to know?”

“Because it’s none of his business.” Thomas snaps and Alex raises an eyebrow. 

He’s never heard Thomas talk to Madison like that, but he supposes he hasn’t witnessed many of their interactions. But, he can’t help but wonder, what they could be talking about that warrants such aggression. 

“Thomas, you can’t hide forever. Sooner or later it’s going to get out.”

There’s a long sigh, and when Thomas replies, his voice is resigned, “Then I’ll just pray for later.”

Madison is quiet for a long moment. “Well, when every wall you’ve built around yourself finally falls, you know I’ll be here to pick up the pieces with you.”

Alex hears footsteps around the corner, and realizing how bad the scene would look to a bystander, he bites the bullet and knocks twice - sharp - on Thomas’s door. 

He hears Madison mutter something inaudible under his breath, then the shuffling of paper, before Thomas calls out, “Come in.” 

Alexander pushes the door open further and steps inside. The scene is unsurprising. Thomas is behind his desk looking pensive, leaning back in his chair and tapping a pen against the desk in front of him. Madison is sitting ramrod straight in the chair across from him. 

When Thomas looks up, the pen stops. 

“Alex.” Thomas says, his expression softening. “What’s up?”

“Uh,” He replies awkwardly, holding up the bag of food, “I brought lunch, if you’re hungry.”

Madison raises an eyebrow. 

Thomas’s eyes narrow, and Alex feels dread in his stomach. Was he going to send him away? Fuck, he hopes not.

Then Thomas says, “Is that from Tso’s?”

“Yeah, got you a Jefferson.”

Somehow, Madison’s eyebrow arches even higher. 

“Perfect. I’m actually starving.” Thomas says, his smile coming back full force, “Jemmy, I’m sure we can continue this conversation at a later date. Or, preferably, never.”

Madison looks almost affronted. “Thomas-”

“Thank you for dropping by, James.”

Madison relents after a moment, standing from the chair and smoothing his suit jacket. He offers Thomas a nod of his head, “Of course, Thomas. Please don’t forget about dinner on Thursday. Dolley will kill us both if you ditch.”

Thomas shoots him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be there.”

Madison nods again, turning to face Alexander - who’s still hovering by the door. 

“Hamilton.” He says, and his voice isn’t rude or anything similar, it’s mostly just blank. 

“Senator Madison, nice to see you again.”

“You as well, Mr. Secretary.” Madison says. He stops a moment, looking at the food in Alex’s hand. “Enjoy your,” a knowing pause, “_lunch_ .”

And then he’s pushing past Alexander and out the door. As soon as he’s gone, Alexander shuts the door behind him, locking it, and then dropping down onto the newly vacated chair. 

Thomas looks amused. “So, who are you hiding from?”

He should probably look into the idea that Thomas seems to be able to read him so well, but he doesn’t. No time for that. 

“Burr.” Alex says, “He confronted me this morning about the assumption bill passing. God, Thomas, you should have seen the look on his face when I told him how we got it passed. He was like super confused, but also trying to not be angry. It was the funniest shit I’ve ever seen.”

Thomas snorts, accepting a box of takeout, “So he finally knows?”

“Yeah. He was pissed, no doubt fearing for his job security. It was amazing. I only wish you were there.” Alexander says, and when Thomas raises an eyebrow, he hurriedly adds, “To see his expression, I mean.”

Thomas’s face is amused as he opens the box of takeout, grabbing the fork from the bag and jabbing it inside. Alexander watches the way his grey gloves curve around the white spoon, and he wants to say something. 

More than anything, Alexander wants to ask why he wears those damn gloves. But they’re still teetering on that precipice of enemies and friends, and Alexander is worried that pushing any farther than he did last night will knock them out of the nice equilibrium they’ve found. 

For once, he can wait. 

So he says nothing, only smiling at Thomas, opening his own box, and stabbing his fork inside. 

When he gets back to his office, almost two hours later, there’s a new email sitting at the top of his inbox. 

**From: ** **gwash@exect.gov  
** **To: ** **aham@exect.gov  
** **Subject: Establishing a National Bank**

**We will discuss during the next cabinet meeting. **

**Washington**

Alexander looks at the email, closing his eyes. It was only a matter of time before Thomas found out about phase 2 of Alex’s plan. Alexander had only hoped it wouldn’t have been this soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just thought of a couple really cute scenes y'all are gonna scream. Also! Who's your favourite secondary character? I think mine is Madison. He's just so done with this shit, its so fun to write hehe.
> 
> "An American slut in Paris" is a nod to one of my all time favourite Jamilton fics: [Fucked My Way Up to the Top by sunken_ships](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10137308/chapters/22532012)


	11. an introduction to sexual tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas is loaded, and Alexander is as confused as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: There is a brief mention of domestic abuse, and a murder-suicide. Nothing graphic and both characters are unnamed, and it's in reference to an event that happened about ten years prior. So if that is triggering for you, please use caution. The section is bolded and if you need to skip it, there is a quick summary in the bottom notes. Please don't feel like you have to read that part if it is upsetting for you. I love you and I need you to stay safe. 
> 
> (In other news, next chapter is going to be a motherfucking whirlwind)

That next morning, Alexander is in his office, trying and failing to make progress on Lee’s new PR proposals. They’re God awful, and he doesn’t understand in what universe anyone would allow $500 million to be spent on them. He’s working through each proposal, trying to find something decent to salvage from them, but keeps coming up empty. 

Needing a break from the monstrosity that is Lee’s writing, he pushes away from his desk and makes his way to the hallway. Maria is at her desk, stapling a couple of pages he doesn’t recognize, and she gives him a smile. 

“Finally taking a break?” She asks with an amused smile. 

Alex hums in reply, “Lee’s trying to destroy my IQ with his shit requests. I need coffee if I’m going to deal with it.”

“Would you like me to run and get you some?”

Alexander shakes his head, “No, I’ll go. I was going to drop by Secretary Jefferson’s office anyway.”

He doesn’t miss the knowing look she sends his way, “Seems like you’ve been getting along a lot better.”

He sighs, having heard this a million times already, “We are.”

She only offers him a smile and Alex resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Please get a copy of the financial report to Washington by this afternoon.”

“Of course, Mr. Secretary.”

He gives her a smile and moves along, making his way down the hallway. Its as he’s rounding the corner to the breakroom, that he spots a long ponytail and dark grey dress that looks strikingly familiar. 

“Eliza?” He calls, and watches as she looks over her shoulder. 

Her face morphs into bright smile, and she turns to say one last thing to the person behind her, before she turns back to face Alexander. He walks with quick steps to meet her. As soon as he’s a few feet away, he gets a glimpse of the man behind her, and he doesn’t bother hiding his smile. 

“Eliza, my dear.” He greets her, before turning to the man behind her, “Mr. Secretary.” Alex says with a sly voice. 

“Secretary Hamilton,” Thomas greets him with the honorific and a pleased smile before he turns to Eliza, “It was really great seeing you, Eliza. If there’s anything else you need, please just let me know.”

She returns his smile easily, “Of course, Thomas. And thank you, again, I can’t tell you how much this will mean to the kids. The holidays are always rough, but your generous help will bring them a little joy.”

“It was entirely my pleasure. Just shoot me a list of items for Christmas and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Thomas. I will.”

Thomas gives her another smile, and then turns to face Alex. “Nice running into you, Mr. Secretary, but I really should get back to work.” He punctuates the statement with a quick wink, that makes his stomach clench. 

He offers Thomas a nod as the other man walks away, and then he allows his focus to be solely on Eliza. 

“So, you and Thomas?” He asks, voice mostly joking. He knows Eliza has a soulmate, knows their chat had nothing to do with anything besides business, but he can’t help the opportunity to jest. 

“Shut up, you.” She giggles, pushing him lightly on the shoulder, “He reached out and asked if there was any way he could help the orphanage since Thanksgiving is coming up.”

“And he did?” Alex asks with a raised eyebrow as Eliza takes his arm and walks with him to the breakroom. 

“He did,” Eliza replies, sitting down at one of the small tables as he pours himself a mug of coffee, “He donated over $1,000 out of pocket”

Alex almost chokes on his coffee. “That’s a lot of money to feed twenty people.”

Her smile is pleased and happy, like a little of her stress has been lifted. “It is. I told him it was too much, but he insisted. Said he wanted them to have the best Thanksgiving money could buy.” 

“That was kind of him.”

“He is a very kind man, Alexander. Thomas even offered to donate more for Christmas. He offered to buy every child more than a couple of gifts, pay to decorate the orphanage, and to have our Christmas dinner catered too.”

“Thomas is a good man.” Alexander allows himself to agree, “And all of that out of pocket too.” He whistles, “Damn.”

Eliza’s smile grows a little wider, “We talked about you, too.”

That gets his attention. He knows Eliza’s been rooting for the two of them, so he prays to God she hadn’t said something horrifyingly embarrassing. Alex thinks about Thomas’s parting wink and feels his cheeks grow hot. 

“Pray tell, what on Earth you could have talked about?”

“Hey, don’t blame me. He’s the one who brought you up, and - you know - the usual. Just embarrassing stories and such.”

“Eliza,”

“Relax,” She chides him, “We just spoke of how you’re getting along now and such.”

He breathes a little easier, “That’s all?”

“Well, and the engagement.”

He stops cold. 

Eliza continues, “Why haven’t you told him that we were engaged?”

Alexander shrugs, stirring his coffee with his finger and wincing at the heat. “I don’t know,” He says mostly under his breath, “Just hasn’t come up, and I’m not sure I want to know how it came into your conversation either.”

“He asked how we knew each other. And, well, he was quite surprised when I mentioned that we had been engaged long ago. I think his heart might have broke when I said it, until I explained that we are just friends now.” 

Alex snorts. “Funny, Eliza. He was probably just upset that you were off the market.”

She gives him a knowing look, “Mmhmm. Anyway, are you coming out for drinks tomorrow? I promised Angelica you’d be there.”

Shit. He had totally forgotten about that. “Yeah, I mean I don’t have anything entirely pressing at the moment.”

“Perfect.” She says with a grin, “I should be going. I promised the kids we’d make craft turkeys when I got back.”

He grabs her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, “Best of mothers and best of women.”

Her giggle is contagious, and she quickly pulls him into a hug. “Be good, my darling, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Of course, my love.”

Eliza presses a lingering kiss to his cheek before pulling away. She pauses for a moment before she adds, “Maybe you could invite Thomas. I’m sure everyone would be happy to see him.”

Alex arches an eyebrow, “Everyone?”

She laughs a little. “Okay, not everyone, but they’ll learn to love him. You and I already have.”

He doesn’t bother correcting her. He doesn’t love Thomas Jefferson. He tolerates him. He enjoys his friendship. There is a difference, but he’ll allow her this. 

“I’ll see.”

She winks at him before disappearing down the hallway, leaving him with his much cooler mug of coffee and a grey lipstick smudge on his cheek. 

Unsurprisingly, Alexander works late. He’s in his office working, and when his stomach starts growling, he finally checks the time. 

11:49PM

He rolls his eyes in annoyance. He still has around a hundred proposals to get through, and he really shouldn’t leave until he gets them done. But, with each new word he reads, the dull pounding in his head grows. 

The door to his office opens and Alexander looks up, blinking twice at the sight before him. 

Thomas stands there, a small smile on his face, and then he holds up a McDonalds bag. 

“To return yesterday’s favour.” Thomas says, “Can I come in?”

Alexander can’t help the smile that forces itself onto his face. “Please do.”

Thomas comes to drop into the seat across from him, pulling open the bag and throwing a cheeseburger in Alex’s direction. 

“What are you doing here so late?” Thomas asks, “Although I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re still here.”

“Lee finally submitted his PR proposals, and they’re all shit. I’m trying not to panic, but at this rate Washington is never going to get reelected.”

Alex tears open the paper around his burger, watches as Thomas does the same. 

“Why don’t you go home and sleep on it? You’ve still got three years before the next Presidential election.”

“Got to stay on top of these kinds of things, as one does.” He snorts, “Why are you here?”

“Burr has somehow managed to completely fuck up everything I’m trying to do in France, so someone has to fix it. Which, as Secretary of State, falls to me.”

“Fuck Burr,” Alexander says, taking a bite of his burger. 

Thomas snorts, “Fuck him.”

As he’s chewing his cheeseburger, Alex watches the way Thomas places his sandwich onto the wrapper that sits on the desk, and cuts it up into smaller sections, stabbing at them with his fork before putting them in his mouth. It’s a ridiculous way to eat a cheeseburger, and Alexander thinks Thomas might be the only person in the world that does it that way. 

“Why do you cut it up? Why not just bite into it?” He asks after a moment, watching the way the shitty plastic knife barely cuts through the chicken. 

“These gloves were like $700 dollars, I’m not going to risk smothering them with mustard.”

“You know you could just take them off, right?”

Thomas looks up at him, and although his face is mostly blank, there seems to be panic in his eyes. 

“I’d rather just cut my food.” Thomas says as reply. 

And that’s an interesting development. Thomas actually seems to be scared of taking his gloves off? And now that he knows they have something to do with his soulmate, Alexander is even more confused. What reason would Thomas have to be afraid of taking his gloves off? Especially considering there were maybe only a hundred people in the building at the moment. He’s struck, once more, by the craving for answers. 

Normally, he’d just shrug off his curiosity for fear of upsetting the other man, but things are different now. Thomas had taken the initiative this time, he had been the one to request Alexander’s company, the one to bring him food, and Alex thinks that means they’ve finally stumbled off the precipice and onto the solid foundation of friendship on the other side. 

So he does what he’s been wanting to do for months, and he asks. 

“Can I ask you something?” He says, “It’s personal.”

“I have a feeling I already know what you’re going to ask. I know it’s been driving you crazy for awhile now, so yes. You can ask.”

“Why do you wear the gloves?”

Thomas sits his knife down on the desk, holding out his gloves to look at them. His face is a mixture of longing and sadness. “I decided a long time ago that I wanted my soulmate to be with me because of me, to love me because of who I am, and not because the universe told them they should. I had a friend in high school, who was in love with a guy who wasn’t her soulmate. They had been dating for years, and they were so good for each other, like opposite halves, and everyone thought there must have been something wrong with the system. She found her soulmate a year after we graduated, dumped her boyfriend and married the new guy right away.”

Alex raises an eyebrow, fearing from Thomas’s expression that the story must not end happily. “What happened?”

**“About ten years ago my sister called me. Told me the girl’s soulmate had killed her. Ran their car off the road and killed them both. It wasn’t long after that that the true nature of their ‘loving relationship’ came to light. He had been abusing her for about as long as they’d been together.”**

Alex sucks in a breath at that. 

“I went to her funeral. The guy she had dated in highschool, the guy she dumped for her soulmate, stood and cried over the casket. And I kept thinking, what kind of universe does that? Ripped her away from someone so good, someone who truly loved her, and replaced him with a ‘perfect match’ that ended up taking her life?”

“That’s so awful, Thomas.”

“It is. It was then that I decided that if I found my soulmate, I wasn’t going to be with them just because we were meant to be together, and I didn’t want them to be with me just because the universe told them they should. Love means nothing to me if the people in it didn’t get a choice.” The man says, eyes not looking at Alexander, “So I decided then that I’d wear gloves. I only ever buy them in black, grey, or white, so that when I meet my soulmate, they’ll get the chance to love me before the world tells them they should.”

Alexander is silent for a minute, trying to digest the new information. Out of all the reasons he had guessed that Thomas were his gloves, that wasn’t one of them. It makes sense, he supposes, but it still seems kind of unfair. 

“But you’d know who they were.”

Thomas huffs a laugh, and it sounds bitter to Alex’s ears, “Trust me, if I could have them wear gloves, I would.”

His phrasing almost makes it seem as though he knows who they are. “Have you met them?”

Thomas hesitates for half a second, before he shakes his head. “Nope, my world is as colourless as it’s always been.” After a moment he adds, “What about you?”

“No, I haven’t met them. I mean, I’ve seen colour, but I have no idea who they are. At this point, I don’t know if I’ll ever know. I think they’re fucking with me.”

Now Thomas looks absolutely intrigued. He raises an eyebrow, in an expression that Alexander has become increasingly fond of, and asks, “Really? What makes you say such a thing?”

Alex snorts. “Isn’t that a complicated question. So basically, I’ve seen a couple different colours, but it's only ever the most random things. Like a doorknob once, and a picture frame, and a pen I found in the lobby. I guess I’m just worried that they know I’m their soulmate, and that they don’t want me.”

It's a show of vulnerability that, just a few weeks ago, Alexander would have balked at the thought of showing to Thomas Jefferson. But things have changed so much since then, his relationship with Thomas has changed, and Thomas had been open with him, so it’s only fair he returns the favour. And, besides, it would be nice to get an unbiased response. 

Thomas looks down at desk, his lips pursed together. After a long moment, he looks back up at Alexander, and in a very soft voice, says, “Maybe that’s what your soulmate is afraid of too.”

Alexander inhales a deep breath, letting the melancholic atmosphere in the room invade him and sighs, “I suppose. I only wish I could see more than one colour at a time, you know? I just want to see them all. Or at least more than one in the most random of places, at the most random of times.”

Thomas is still looking at him, his eyes calculating and fond, and he only hums in agreement. They finish eating pretty soon after that, and Alex feels exhaustion weighing heavy in his bones. He yawns, squinting at his computer screen. 

“Let’s go, I’m sending you home.” Thomas says, closing Alex’s laptop and sliding it into the satchel that sits on his desk. 

“You’re not my boss. You can’t send me home.”

“No, but I’m leaving and you are too. There is no pressing financial emergency at the moment. Go home and get some sleep.”

Alexander rolls his eyes, but quickly collects the rest of his paperwork and adds it to his satchel. 

“I’ll walk out with you.” Alex offers, sliding the bag over his shoulder. 

“How sweet of you.” Thomas deadpans, and Alexander can only huff out a laugh as he follows him from his office. 

They ride down the elevator making polite conversation, and their shoulders brushing as they walk outside. The sun has long since passed below the horizon, casting the world into darkness and making the temperature drop with it. The wind rushes past them, and Alex pulls his jacket a little tighter. 

“Where’d you park?” Thomas asks. 

Alexander points over to the East side of the parking lot. “Over there.”

“I’ll walk with you then.”

“How sweet of you.” He parrots back Thomas’s words, laughing when Thomas huffs a laugh and bumps their shoulders together. 

They’re quiet as they walk, the noise of the city a comfortable cacophony around them. It’s nice, he thinks, just being with Thomas. Not even talking or joking, but just being near him. Once again, he’s struck by how much things have changed between them in such a short amount of time. 

He sees the bumper of his shitty Mazda, and wishes he could prolong this walk just a little longer. His car appears in front of them too quick, and Alexander turns to face Thomas with a tired smile. 

“This is me.”

Thomas gives him a nod, but neither of them make to move. Alex is almost leaning against his bumper, Thomas standing a little too close to be casual. 

He looks down at his shoes, trying to fight a smile. A second later, when he looks back up, Thomas’s eyes are on his. Alex immediately is aware of how close they’re standing. Thomas’s face is so close, so painstakingly close, and Alexander can’t breathe. He could take one step further and physically run into the other man. 

Thomas’s expression is soft and open, looking at Alexander with unabashed fondness. It makes waves of nervous energy roll through his stomach, spreading out into his fingertips and down into his toes. He feels like every nerve in his body is on fire, and the hair on the back of his neck is standing straight. 

Thomas’s lips quirk, and Alex drops his gaze to them. It feels like the day at Capitol Hill, and he doesn’t think he can look away. 

Thomas leans closer, half an inch max, and it steals the breath from Alex’s lungs. He looks back up and into Thomas’s dark eyes. The other man is still just looking at him, not saying anything, and Alex doesn’t want to speak and ruin whatever’s happening in front of him. 

Thomas bends down, and for a second Alexander thinks he’s going to be kissed. He tenses up automatically, but Thomas’s lips don’t meet his own. Instead, his head is lowered so he’s close enough to whisper in Alex’s ear. 

“Goodnight, _ Alexander _.” He says, voice low and sounding like gravel. The name is drenched in that stupidly southern accent, and sends waves of heat down the front of his body. 

He doesn’t know what’s happening. Doesn’t know if it's a power play, or a jest, or anything similar, but he hates the thought of Thomas having the upper hand. Apparently, it seems, friendship doesn’t mean Alex is willing to give up control. 

When Thomas pulls away, Alexander quickly steps forward. He lets his hand press into Thomas’s chest, feels the hard muscles beneath his hand, and looks up at the man through inky lashes. 

“Goodnight.”

Thomas doesn’t move for a long moment, and Alex can feel the heat bleeding into his hand even through Thomas’s dress shirt. After what feels like ages, Thomas’s lips crack into a smile, and he steps even further away - effectively putting distance between them, and Alex lets his hand drop. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Alex smiles back at him, “Tomorrow.”

He watches Thomas walk off, waiting until the man slips out of view before getting into his car. Once safetly buckled into his front seat, Alex drops his head onto the steering wheel and groans. 

_ Fuck _.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of bolded parts: Thomas has a friend who was killed by her soulmate. He doesn't understand why the universe would pair them up together only for him to be a piece of shit. 
> 
> Scream at me and let me know what you think. If u don't say anything, I'll assume its shitty and feel bad ;)


	12. drunk actions are sober thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, I promised you a whirlwind. I think I might have delivered. (also, holy shit this is over 8K - aka about 2x as long as the others - im so sorry, I really didn't intent for it to be that long haha.)
> 
> In other news, let me know what you think?? I kinda fangirl-ed when writing it, so I think you'll be happy?? (I hope so at least)
> 
> (also, quick reminder! once you kiss your soulmate, you can see the entire world in colour - not just the things your soulmate has touched. So that's how Lafayette can see Thomas's shirt colour.)

Alexander doesn’t think about the almost kiss. 

Okay, that’s a lie. Alexander is being genuine when he says he doesn’t want to think about it, but he can’t stop. It’s a curse, running through his mind, not bothering to give him a moment of rest. The entire night is on replay, like a terrible movie playing on a loop in his eyes. He thinks about it on the drive home. He runs through the events that led up to it while he’s in the shower. He thinks about the way Thomas’s eyes had looked when he eats dinner, and it’s still on his mind when he crawls under his comforter that night. 

Alex thinks about it that next morning too. 

It is as he’s walking into work that he stops thinking about what happened, and starts to try and rationalize why it happened. The near kiss obviously meant nothing. It was late, they were both tired and had been running on fumes for hours. Both of them had opened up a little, let the other under a fraction of their armour, and they were feeling vulnerable. That doesn’t mean that Thomas was trying to kiss him, or that he even wanted to kiss him. The thought probably hadn’t even crossed Thomas’s mind. He, more than likely, was just fucking around with Alexander and trying to get a rise out of him. 

Because what it came down to was the simple fact that they both had soulmates. They had people out there that were waiting for them. Thomas hadn’t met his yet, but Alexander was actively trying to find out whoever his was. And he’d learned his lesson, years ago, with Eliza. Getting involved with someone that wasn’t your soulmate and someone who hadn’t met their’s did not end well, because - eventually - they met the person they were meant to be with, and you ended up flat on your ass with no one. Alexander is going to go ahead and assume that the same logic applies when it comes to getting involved with someone that was terrified of meeting their soulmate too. It wasn’t worth it. It wouldn’t end well. It would end in heartbreak or disaster, and Alexander has had enough of that to last him a lifetime. 

So, he does what anyone in his situation would do, and he dismisses the almost kiss from his mind at once. He bundles it, and all the confusing feelings attached, and adds it to the mental Thomas shaped box in his head. This time is different, though. This time Alexander has no intention of opening it again. He has no intention of thinking about the way Thomas had leaned forward, just a tiny inch, or the way his eyes had shone down at Alex - open and soft and vulnerable. He doesn’t want to think about the way his own heart had picked up, just a fraction, in his chest. The way it beat heavy in his ears, or the way his nerves felt raw and frayed. He doesn’t want to think about the way Thomas’s voice had sounded, the way Thomas had said his name - dipped so lovely in that accent, or the way his breath felt across Alex’s neck. 

He doesn’t want to think about any of it. For his own peace of mind, he can’t. So Alexander tucks it into the mental box in his head, padlocking it this time, changes the name to, “Do Not Touch,” and promises himself that come hell or high water, he’s not touching that shit with a ten foot pole. It’s stupidity at worse and self preservation at best, but he’s not going to justify it to himself. He doesn’t need to. 

He rounds the corner to his office, his eyes catching on Maria. She looks as put together as always for eight o’clock in the morning. Her dark black hair tied back in a low bun and her shirt wrinkle free. She is the exact opposite of Alexander. 

Maria looks up from her desk, silently raising a paper to his eye level. 

“What do you got for me?” Alexander asks, reaching for the paper. 

She pulls it out of his reach just before his fingers grasp it, and raises an eyebrow. 

“What?” She says, “No good morning, Maria? How was your night, Maria?”

Alexander takes in a breath and releases a long suffering sigh, giving her a too bright smile for this early, “Good morning, Maria. The light of my life, the bringer of sunshine, the sun on a cloudy day. How was your night? If you say anything other than fantastic, my heart will absolutely burst.”

He watches her roll her eyes, but there’s a twitch of her lips, so he considers his mission successful. 

“Good morning, Mr. Secretary. My night was perfect, so no need to burst any vital organs.” She hands the paper over, “Washington released a statement of neutrality in the French-England war this morning.”

His smile freezes on his face as he grabs the papers from her hands. Alex flips through them quickly. It’s a short note, stating the official position of the United States as neutral. When he’s finished, his eyebrows are arched, high, on his forehead. 

“Damn,” Alexander says, unable to find any other words. 

“Which part exactly are you damning?” 

Alexander motions to the last paragraph, “The part where he says any US citizen that chooses a side and gets caught, is no longer under the protection of the United States government.”

“I thought that was a little drastic too.” Maria says, sitting back down in her chair. “No comment from the Republicans yet, but I doubt Secretary Jefferson will be pleased.”

“Without a doubt.” He agrees, “But what else did he expect? Washington’s been pushing for neutrality for months now, he had to have seen this comin-” He cuts his words short. 

“What?” Maria asks, her face confused and a little concerned. 

“Thomas had to have seen this coming.” He says, an idea forming in his head. But it’s impossible, there’s no way Thomas was thinking that far ahead, right?

But Thomas had to know. He had to know that Washington would think their country too weak to aid in a war between the world’s two biggest superpowers. And he’d hate that, he’d want to back France, but an executive order couldn’t be touched. There would be no way he could work around it. 

Unless he helped before the order was signed. 

“Excuse me,” Alexander says suddenly, the idea growing more prominent and solid in his head, “I have to check on something.”

He turns, pushing his door open, and stops short. It’s already unlocked. 

“Maria, was the door locked when you came in?”

“No, Sir. You must have forgotten to lock it.”

He frowns, looking down at the grey door handle. It’s not a pressing concern, Alexander thinks, he’d never be stupid enough to leave something important in his office after hours, so it’s not like anything could have been stolen. But, still, it is interesting. He supposes he must have been so rushed to leave with Thomas that he simply forgot. 

He sits down at his desk, pulling his laptop from his bag and turning it on. Once it whirls to life and he logs in, Alexander opens the most recent email from the State Department. He scrolls down the page, eyes skimming the listed countries, until he finds it. 

France. 

Alex easily finds the section he wants, and he follows the column to the right and blinks at the number that sits there. He was right. Thomas, that son of a bitch, found a fucking loophole. 

There, in the last State summary, is a transfer of 30 Billion dollars - in full - to France from the United States. And the date of the transfer? Two days ago. 

He leans back in his chair, eyes unable to leave the screen as a bewildered sort of laugh escapes his throat. The one loophole and Thomas found it? Fuck, Alexander had underestimated him. Here, he had thought that Thomas pushing for the extra money in his budget was a move made by greed. But he had a plan the whole time. He knew what he was doing. He had thought it through, found the flaw in Washington’s plan, and succeeded in what he wanted to do the whole time. 

Thomas’s previous comment of, “Phase two,” replays through his head, and Alexander doesn’t know if he should be pissed or impressed. 

He’s leaning towards impressed. 

Thomas had known that Washington would drop a statement of neutrality. He knew that he’d be forced to stop sending foreign aid, stop helping France, which is why he pushed for the extra money. It’s why he got the entirety of the money transferred before Washington took an official position. Because, technically, it was common knowledge that the United States was sending foriegn aid before. They had never just sent that much at once. 

So, in technical terms, Thomas hadn’t picked a side. The entirety of the funds had been transferred before Washington’s statement of neutrality. And now, even though Thomas would be forced to stop sending foreign aid, it didn’t matter. Because he already transferred 30 billion. 

And there was nothing any of them could do. If they redacted the money, it’d look like they were allying themselves with England. Which means there is nothing he, or Washington, or anyone else could do to stop it.

Thomas had gotten his way. He had sent France enough money to fund the start of the war, and all of it was under the disguise of foriegn aid. 

That genuis fucking son of a bitch. 

In all honesty, Alexander is more impressed than anything else. He had underestimated Thomas Jefferson, and that was something he never thought he’d do. He wants to send Thomas an email, telling him that he’s caught on, but something stops him. 

Yes, what he did was a little underhanded, but it’s nothing drastic. And Alexander could use this. This was prove that Thomas had a hidden agenda in their compromise, and Alex had one too. If Thomas ended up pissed about the National Bank, Alex could use this, he could explain that they both had an agenda that wasn’t explained beforehand. So, Alex decides, he’ll keep this close to his chest for now. 

Alexander shuts his laptop, still a little in awe, when his gaze catches on the sight in front of him. There is a photo he keeps on his desk, one of his most prized possessions. It’s a black and white photograph of his mother, framed and perfect, from when he was a child. She looked so happy in the picture, so free of worry and fear, smiling brightly at the camera. Her grin was bright and wide, and her hair draped over her shoulders like something from a movie. It was a nice picture, a picture that reminded him of the good times they had together, of her beauty and happiness before it had all been selfishly stolen from them. 

And where it had once been black and white, just like his memory of her, it is now in full colour. 

He thinks, for only a moment, of his unlocked office door. 

He reaches out with shaky hands to bring it closer to him. Her hair, once lifeless black, is now a shimmering black- alight by the sun above her. Her eyes, grey and plain, are now a vibrant shade of brown. Her dress is pink, a shade that looks so beautiful against her dark skin. 

Alexander, embarrassingly enough, feels tears begin to prickle behind his eyes. This is not something he ever thought he would have. When she died, she took all his hope with him. The hope that he would ever know what colour her hair was, or her eyes, or the colour of the grey splotches that kissed her cheeks when she was happy. 

But, now, he had been given his wish in full. 

Alexander will be the first to admit that he hasn’t always held his soulmate in high esteem. He hasn’t always thought the best of them. He had been angry with them, hurt even, that they were hiding from him. He had convinced himself that they were messing with him, purposely trying to make him confused and desperate. But this, this gift of theirs, is priceless. They had given him this, this glimpse into a life he never knew- one he never thought he’d have the chance of knowing, and he couldn’t be anything more than grateful. 

He brings the picture to his chest, holding it there, and lets out a long sigh. It is perfect, bittersweet even, and he only wishes his mother were here to see him now. To see what he’s made of himself, what he’s made of their life, and how he has put the pieces together in a puzzle she never thought he’d ever get the chance to see. 

Alexander doesn’t get much done that day. 

It’s John’s text that finally drags him out of his own mind. Hours have passed, and he’s been in a bit of a funk all day. He had finished up the rest of Lee’s proposals, but didn’t even bother trying to glean anything useful from them. It wasn’t his job. There were more pressing concerns, anyway. 

He takes a moment to check his phone, sees his friend’s text, and it washes away a little of his remaining melancholy. There is nothing wrong with reminiscing about the past, but he’s careful not to spend too much time there. 

John’s texts makes him smile. 

_ John: We gettin’ fucked up whore _

It makes Alexander snort, and he finally draws his attention away from that damn photo. He’s grateful they’re going out, in all honesty. It’s been too long since they’ve all hung out together. Everyone’s been so busy with their own shit, Alexander included, but he’s excited for the opportunity to finally spend time together. It’s that thought that reminds Alexander of Eliza’s words the previous day. 

Should he invite Thomas?

On one hand, it is most definitely a terrible idea. In fact, he doesn’t know if he’s heard such a bad idea before. (And considering he once heard John wonder, out loud, if Lafayette could survive a drop from a second story building and Lafayette offer to try it to see, that’s saying something.) Thomas doesn’t get along with the majority of Alexander’s friends that are going to be there. It seems like the set up to failure. 

Lafayette and Eliza were the only ones that really seemed to like him, Peggy too - he supposes - but that kind of comes with the territory of Thomas being her boss. And while Hercules and John were mostly indifferent to him, they weren’t really the ones Alexander was worried about. 

It was Angelica. 

He loves Angelica. Loves her like the sister-in-law she never actually became. She is intelligent, driven, and a staunch no-bullshit-allowed kind of person. She is intense and all consuming, and Alexander admires her endlessly for it, but he is not so impassioned by his admiration for her that he is blinded to her faults. She is intense and unforgiving, her first impression is her last impression, and once you fuck with her, it’s over for you. 

Alexander doesn’t know where the tension between them first started. Eliza had never told him, and he was too scared to bother asking Angelica. He assumes, though, that it started somewhere between Thomas purposely leaving the mention of women out of the Declaration and when Angelica had bitch slapped him at a party. 

Just a guess though. 

He supposes, based off the assumed reaction of his friends, that he should just bite the bullet and ask Thomas to come. Five out of six of his friends were either friendly with Thomas or indifferent to him, and Alexander is positive that Peggy and Eliza would be enough to control their sister if Angelica got too intoxicated and started verbally harassing Thomas again. 

But that brings Alexander to an entirely different point. Does he even want to invite Thomas? 

His gut reaction is yes. Yes, of course he wants to invite him. Not only does he want additional time spent with him, but Alexander hasn’t been privy to seeing Thomas drunk yet. And, as an added bonus, it would give John and Hercules - both currently indifferent to him - the opportunity to get to know Thomas a little more. 

But why does that even matter? Why does Alexander care so much if his friends like Thomas? It’s not like he’s trying to add him to the group, although he supposes, that isn’t a terrible idea- if they get the Angelica situation sorted first. 

If Alexander has grown to stand the other man, enjoy his company even, then surely the other members of his circle could grow to like him as well? 

But Alex’s brain is telling him that inviting Thomas to go out with them is a terrible idea. Last night had been a close call. Alexander had thought Thomas was going to kiss him. Alexander had, dare he say, wanted Thomas to kiss him. He’s not really sure what his feelings are, and he’s too confused to even try to sort it out right now. 

The point is, if they had a close call when they were both sober, albeit exhausted, then how can Alexander expect anything different to come from tonight? He knows how he gets when he’s drunk. He knows he gets flirty, and touchy, and affectionate. It’s the same reason he fell into bed with John in college, why he fucked Lafayette a couple years ago, and why he almost slept with Angelica. 

Drunk Alexander is always desperate for affection, desperate for love, and desperate for sex. 

And Thomas isn’t hard on the eyes. He’s not too prideful to admit that, even when they first met, he had thought Thomas was attractive. He had that asshole vibe, but his looks were different. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He had that smile, that megawatt grin, that left Alexander struggling for words. 

So, he wonders, is inviting the man he’s kinda-sorta-doesn’t-really-know-how-to-feel-about to go out with them for drinks a good idea? Absolutely not. 

But Alexander can’t help the way butterflies crawl up his chest at the thought of seeing Thomas outside of work again, the thought that Thomas might say yes, that he might get the opportunity to spend more time with him. He feels anxious, on edge, like his chest might explode at the thought. He wants nothing more than to spend more time with him, to peel back a couple more of those layers, and to find out even more about the man. 

It's that thought that convinces him. 

If he wants to spend time with Thomas, it’s stupid not to. There’s literally nothing holding him back but himself, and he’s tired of leashing up what he wants because he’s scared of the way things are going to turn out. Alexander Hamilton doesn’t run from consequences, he runs towards them.

Alexander stands up from his desk, and heads down the hallway. 

Peggy’s at her desk, scrolling through her phone. She looks up when Alexander approaches, only offering him a look with a raised eyebrow before she turns her attention back to her phone. 

Thomas’s office is open and Alexander stands in the door jam hesitantly, knocking twice. Thomas is behind his desk, as per usual, and he looks up when Alex knocks. His lips quirk in a smile. 

“Hey,” Alex supplies, feels the way nerves tighten in his stomach. Jesus, what is he, a senior girl asking her crush to the prom?

“Alex,” Thomas says, leaning back in his chair and offering Alex a smile- that same megawatt smile that leaves him a little breathless. “How can I help you?”

“Uhh,” He _ fucking _ stutters. Alexander Hamilton fucking stutters. “Some of us are going out for drinks tonight, and I thought I’d see if you wanted to come with?”

“Who’s some of us?”

Alexander shifts on his feet, hands rung together in front of him, “Lafayette and Eliza will be there.” He pauses, “And I’ll be there.”

“I’m supposed to get dinner with Martha tonight.” 

Alex’s stomach drops, “Oh-”

“But maybe I can swing by later? If y’all are still there.”

Alexander nods, although his heart really isn’t in it. Thomas’s words sound like an excuse, an empty promise, like he’s just saying that to offer Alex a comfort that he doesn’t truly mean. Like he isn’t going to actually show up, like he doesn’t _ actually _ want to show up, and he’s just saying it to make Alex feel better. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Alexander says and his words sound off, but he doesn’t really know how to make them sound normal, “Sure thing, but no worries if you can’t make it.”

“Alexa-”

“I, uh, I should go. Enjoy your dinner with Martha though.” Alexander says, Martha’s name falling off his lips a little too harsh. He turns on his heels, leaving Thomas’s office before he gets a reply. 

When he gets back to his office, Alexander feels off centered and anxious in all the wrong ways. He doesn’t know what’s worse: Thomas rejecting his plans, or Thomas rejecting his plans because he’s having dinner with Martha. 

The jealousy that rises up in his chest is infuriating. It’s unrational and stupid, and there is literally no reason why Alexander should be feeling this way. But the thought of Martha shooting that pretty grin at Thomas over dinner has him curling his fingers against his thighs. 

But Alexander shouldn’t be jealous, and it's the same reason he isn’t thinking about last night’s almost kiss. 

There is nothing between them. There is absolutely nothing there. Thomas has a soulmate, and Alexander can’t be jealous of that. And if what Thomas said last night was true, if he hasn’t met his soulmate yet, then that means his soulmate can’t be Martha. But, still, Thomas had said he wasn’t going to love someone just because they were his soulmate, and Alex can only assume the opposite is true as well. He isn’t not going to love someone just because they aren’t his soulmate. Which means he might like Martha. Which means they might be dating. Which means they might end up together. Which means Alexander might have to see them together. 

Alexander drops into his seat, ignoring the ping of his email, and starts counting down the hours until he can check the fuck out of here and go get drunk. 

Seven o’clock doesn’t come soon enough, but as soon as it finally drags by, Alexander is out the door and on his way to Rocky’s. It’s late enough that the bar is steadily filling, and Alexander gets hit in the face with a wave of smoke and booze as he enters. 

Caleb’s behind the bar, mixing drinks, and Anna’s making her rounds. He tosses them both a wave as he makes his way to the booth in the back. 

Unsurprisingly, everyone has beat him there. Eliza’s in Hercules’ lap, Angelica next to them sipping a beer, Lafayette and John are having what looks to be a serious conversation, and Peggy’s flicking straw wrappers at Angelica’s glass. Alexander can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he slides into the booth next to Peggy, who wraps her arm around his shoulder. 

“Didn’t know if you were coming,” She says, poking at his side with her free hand. 

Alexander greets the rest of the table as he leans into her touch, “Like I could refuse, and besides, I really need a drink after today.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, grey curls falling around her face, “It got anything to do with why you literally fled Thomas’s office today, and why he came out not two seconds later and asked what was wrong with you?”

“He asked what was wrong?” Alexander says on instinct before he can bite his tongue. 

Her smile only grows more knowing and he has the sinking feeling that he just solidified whatever it is she’s assuming. “He asked me what time we usually left the bar.”

“Did he?” He responds, keeping his voice light and uninterested. 

“Well, he asked what time you usually left.”

“Can we not talk about him tonight?” Alex asks, voice almost pleading, “I just really want to relax and not think about- well, any of that.”

She looks at him questioningly for a long moment, as if she’s trying to read whatever’s written on his face, before she sighs. “Fine, but in return for my generosity, you have to convince everyone to do shots with us.”

And that’s really too easy. 

Alexander smiles at her, clapping his hands to draw everyone’s attention. “Since this is the first time we’re all together, in what seems like forever, we’re having a round of shots on yours truly.”

Everyone lets out a cheer, Angelica raises her beer, and Alexander can’t help the way his heart is full at the sight of all of them - together - and happy. It’s been too long, way too long, and he’s glad they’re finally back in their old booth - together. 

He gets a round from Anna, and they all raise the clear liquid with shaky hands. 

“To a good ass night,” Alexander says, hearing the way Lafayette echoes his words. 

And then the glasses get clinked against the hardwood table, and the taste of vodka floods his mouth. 

And he does have a good time. Well, he tries too. Alexander does get spectacularly drunk, which is the first step to having a good time. Lafayette and John both try, and fail, to get him onto the dance floor. Alex just isn’t feeling it though, too drunk and in his feelings to grind on the dance floor with them like he normally does. 

So he shrugs off their offer with a smile, and watches as his friends pair off and take to the floor. Eliza and Hercules. John and Lafayette (both of who’s soulmates are out of town), and Angelica and Peggy. His heart is heavy watching them, and he knows he should be trying to enjoy this more - he feels the time fleeting and wishes he could pull himself out of his pity party long enough to enjoy their company while he has it. 

Sometime later, when the world has taken on a hue of haze and blur, John and Lafayette drag themselves back to the booth. They sit on either side of him, sandwiching him between them, and Lafayette lays his head on Alex’s shoulder. 

“What’s going on with you, _ mon ami _?” Lafayette murmurs, the alcohol making his accent seem even more pronounced. 

“Seriously, man, you never miss an opportunity to shake it on Rocky’s floor.” John says, as he lulls the head back against the booth.

And as much as Alexander really does not want to talk about it, he can’t help when the words spill from his mouth, “I invited Thomas to come, but he has dinner with Martha.”

John’s face morphs into an “oh” expression and Alex sees the knowing look he shoots Lafayette over his shoulder. 

Lafayette coos softly in his ear, “Oh Alexander-” 

“Don’t please.” Alexander says, “I know I’m being stupid, but I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. And I really don’t want to think about him. I just want to sit here, drunk off my ass, and be miserable.”

John’s eyes flash somewhere over Alexander’s shoulder, too far to the right to be looking at Lafayette, and his expression morphs into something that looks a little too pleased for Alex to be comfortable. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it looks like you might not have that luxury.”

Alex’s eyebrow furrows, and he turns to look over his shoulder. He feels some of the tension in his shoulders lessen as he takes in the blurry figure that just walked through the door. 

The white jacket, the grey gloves, that smile. 

Thomas came. 

Alexander’s eyes lock with Thomas’s and he sees the little wave the other man sends him, and something hot shoots through his chest. Thomas actually fucking came. 

“And that’s our cue.” John says, sliding out of the booth and grabbing Lafayette’s hand to pull him back onto the dance floor. 

Alexander is left, alone, in the booth and Thomas is steadily weaving his way through the crowd on his way over. Alex, stomach tightening and nerves rising, drains two shots in quick succession. The second glass hits the table as Thomas slides into the booth next to him. 

“Hey,” Thomas says, shooting Alexander that megawatt smile. 

Fuck, he’s too drunk for this. He feels his cheeks heat up, and his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to not embarrass himself, and he doesn’t know what it means that Thomas actually showed up. He was supposed to be at dinner with Martha. She was supposed to be sipping on too expensive red wine and sending him flirty smiles over the table. 

But he wasn’t. He was here. He was with Alexander.

“Hey,” Alexander says finally, and it sounds slurred to his own ears. Damn, how much did he drink? “I’m surprised you came.”

Thomas’s smile slips just a fraction, and he looks almost hesitant when he speaks, “Is that okay?”

“Yeah!” Alexander says hurriedly, his voice coming out a little too loud. A girl at the table next to them glares over her shoulder and Alex offers a sheepish smile, “Yeah, I mean of course it is. I invited you. I just didn’t think you would because of your dinner.”

“I left early.” Thomas replies simply. 

Alexander blinks at him. Thomas is hot. Fuck, Alex knew he was conventionally attractive, but how had he never noticed that he was so hot? Was he always this hot? He blinks again, and the world tilts a little on its axis. He has to close his eyes for a moment to keep himself upright. The last two shots hit his blood stream and the world spins a little more behind his eyelids. 

When he opens his eyes, Thomas is looking at him with a concerned face. “Are you alright?”

He can’t help the ridiculous giggle that escapes from his throat. Thomas is here. Thomas came.

“Yeah,” He says, the giggle growing into a laugh, “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of drunk.”

Thomas is smiling, so Alex assumes he must not be making a complete ass of himself, “I can tell.”

“I’m so sorry,” He says around his laugh, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, “Fuck, I really didn’t think I drank this much.” 

Alexander has to take a few deep breaths to calm his ridiculous laughter. He gets himself together fairly quickly. Did he really drink enough to be acting this fucking stupid? (The empty vodka shots in front of him say yes but Alex’s heart says no.)

Before he can say anything else, Eliza’s voice rings through the haze like a crisp bell. 

“Thomas!” She says, appearing next to them at the booth, “I didn’t know you were coming!”

Thomas offers her a genuine smile, letting her kiss his cheek in a soft display of open affection. 

“Alexander convinced me to drop by.”

“Well I’m so glad you did.” She says, her eyes a little dazed but Alex knows she’s nowhere near drunk, “Order whatever you want and just have them put it on the Schuyler tab.”

“Thank you, although I should limit myself. I drove.” Thomas says, his eyes darting from Eliza to Alexander’s for a split second before they return. 

“Well, in that case you must come dance.” Eliza says, “Alexander is an excellent dance partner, but we haven’t been able to get him off his ass all night. Maybe you could convince him?” 

Alexander sees the glimmer in her eye, and knows exactly what she’s doing. He wants to say something, tell her to leave him be or something, but then Thomas shoots him a hesitant smile and says, “An excellent dancer?”

He feels his cheeks heat just a little. “Anna named the dance floor after me after I did the splits once.” 

“Well then,” Thomas says, offering Alex his hand, “Care to prove your worth?”

Alexander really can’t say no. 

He should. He really should. Fuck there are so many damn reasons that he should. 

But he doesn’t. 

He takes Thomas’s hand, letting the other man pull him onto the dance floor. 

“I should warn you, I don’t think I’m sober enough to do much more than let you lead at the moment.”

Thomas only grins at him, pulling Alex’s hand a little harder. They join the mass of people on the dance floor, some horribly new pop song blaring through the speakers. Alex doesn’t know what to do, what the boundary is between them and their newfound friendship, so he just stands there for a moment. That is, until Thomas grabs his hand again, his glove soft against Alex’s fingers, and pulls him close. 

He’s a little too drunk to be graceful on his feet, so he mostly just clings to Thomas’s broad shoulders as the other man moves them around the dance floor. It’s ridiculous, he thinks, as Thomas moves them in something that more closely resembles an 18th century dance than modern day grinding, but it’s sweet and fun and leaves him laughing into Thomas’s ear. 

He sees Angelica shoot him a look, a “we are definitely talking about this later,” look, but she - thankfully - doesn’t comment on them dancing together. Alexander simply holds on tight to Thomas, and let’s the other man move them around the floor. It’s stupid, but he’s having such a good time, and Thomas is here. And he’s close and handsome and he smells so good, and fuck, Alexander is drunk. 

They dance for so long that Alexander loses track of the songs. He’s exhausted halfway through though, and takes to leaning his head against Thomas’s chest, his hands on the other man’s arms, and Thomas’s just above his hips. They’re swaying in the middle of the bar, some fast upbeat rap song on the speakers, but it’s nice. Ridiculously so, he’s afraid. 

Everyone eventually retires back to the booth, ready for another round of drinks and a break from the dancing. Thomas and Alexander are the last two back, and the booth is packed full when they get there. 

Alex sees Eliza shoot John a look and he winks at her before climbing into Lafayette’s lap. The man makes a noise in the back of his throat, before holding his hands wide and letting John situate himself. It opens up enough room for Peggy to slide to the right, and open up a spot for Thomas. 

Alexander stands next to him, hesitant, before Thomas raises an eyebrow at him, and pulls Alexander onto his lap. And, oh, what a nice lap it is. 

Thomas’s thighs are firm and strong beneath Alex, and he carefully arranges his own legs on the other side of Thomas’s knee. 

He’s rigid for a moment, spine straight and his hands in his lap, but then Thomas relaxes beneath him - his hand on the small of Alex’s back, and it allows him to relax a little as well. And when no one at the table - Angelica included - makes comments on the two of them, Alexander sinks a little deeper. Thomas’s hand moves to rest on his thigh, halfway up, and Alex can barely keep the smile from his face. 

It’s sometime later, when the bar is beginning to empty out, that Alexander is resting his head against Thomas’s chest, the other man’s hand still on his thigh as he talks quietly with Lafayette across the table. It’s some conversation in rapid French that Alex is too tired to bother listening too. He thinks he hears his name a couple of times, but neither Lafayette or Thomas spare him a glance, so he assumes he must be hearing things. 

Alex’s hand is fiddling with a button on Thomas’s dress shirt, the material soft and expensive beneath his fingers, Thomas’s chest rock hard and too tempting. The alcohol is slowly fleeing his body, leaving him exhausted from the dancing and a lifetime worth of stress. 

“Lafayette?” Alexander asks, suddenly, around a yawn. 

“Yes, _ mon coeur _?”

“What colour is Thomas’s shirt?” 

He feels Thomas’s hand flex against his thigh, and he nuzzles his head against the other man’s chest a little more at the touch. 

“It’s blue, Alexander.”

He picks his head up, just a fraction, until Thomas looks down at him. His eyes are wide and soft, and Alexander wants nothing more than to kiss him. 

“I bet you look good in blue.” He murmurs, dropping his head back onto the man’s chest before he can do something stupid - like act on his previous thoughts. 

“How are you getting home, darlin’?” Thomas’s voice asks, barely breaking through the foggy haze that surrounds Alex’s head. 

“Taxi,”

“How about I take you home instead?” Thomas says, his voice soft and warm. 

It’s a nice voice, he thinks. It makes Alexander want to make a blanket out of it, Southern accent and all, and curl up into it. Fuck, that’s a very drunk thing for him to think. 

“Awe, are you worried about me?” Alexander asks, unable to hide the smile that spreads across his face at the thought. 

“A little,” Thomas says, “Do you even know your address?”

“1804.”

He feels Thomas’s snort of laughter, “Not even close, darlin’. Let me take you home, please? Give me peace of mind knowing you’re not dead in the street somewhere.”

On one hand, it’s a very bad idea. A truly terrible idea even. On the other, it means extending their time together. 

So obviously, Alexander has to agree. 

“Alas, you’ve convinced me.” He slurs the words running together, “Who would have thought, Thee Thomas Jefferson worried about me.”

“Not me, for one.”

Alexander picks up his head, his face way too close to Thomas’s, and he taps him on the cheek. “It’s cute.”

Thomas shakes his head, his smile still present, “Alright, you’re drunk. Let’s get you home.”

Alexander stands from Thomas’s lap, his legs like jello, and Thomas’s arm darts out to steady him. 

“Thank you for tonight, everyone. It’s been real and it’s been fun, but I really want to be in my bed right now.” He says to the group. He listens to their replies, but hears words more than strung together sentences. 

_ “Love you.” _

_ “Thomas is taking you home?” _

_ “Let me know when you’re home.” _

_ “Be safe.” _

Alexander waves a hand at them, before placing it back on Thomas’s shoulder. “Goodnight, love you guys.”

Eliza blows him a kiss and a wink as Alexander lets Thomas drag him from the bar. 

The walk back to Thomas’s car is short, but Alexander is freezing his ass off. Thomas keeps a hand on his back to steady him, and Alex’s eyes are growing heavy as they round the corner outside the bar. Thomas unlocks his (stupidly expensive) car, and helps Alexander into the passenger seat. 

“My hands are fucking freezin’, feel them.” Alexander says, pressing one of his hands to the side of Thomas’s face. 

Thomas covers Alex’s hands with his own for a moment, encasing them in the warm fabric of his gloves, before he raises an eyebrow in thought. Thomas releases his hands, moving to open the glovebox. He digs around for a moment, and when he comes back, there are a pair of white gloves in his hands. 

“Here, put these on.” Thomas says, sitting the gloves in Alexander’s lap. 

He stares at the gloves for a moment. “But, these are your,” He hesitates, “Your soulmate gloves.” Alex whispers the last part. 

Thomas shoots him an amused smile. “They’re just gloves, gloves that have a multitude of uses. One of which, by the way, is to keep your hands warm.”

The other man shuts the door softly, making his way around to the driver’s side. Alexander looks at the gloves. Thomas had given him one of his pairs of gloves to wear? It’s oddly sweet, and makes Alex’s heart speed up just a little bit. Which, quite frankly, is fucking ridiculous. 

They’re just gloves. Alexander’s knows this. He’s bought gloves before, wore them too, but this feels different. Since he met Thomas, his association to them has changed. They weren’t just for fashion and they weren’t just for keeping your hands warm. They were for keeping a secret, one that Thomas was - so obviously - afraid of letting out. So it makes something simmer in his chest, hot and tight, that he doesn’t know what to do with. He knows they’re just gloves, but it feels like Thomas is trusting him with a lot more than just that. 

Thomas crawls into the driver’s seat next to him, and fastens his seatbelt before starting the car. Alexander takes the opportunity to slide the gloves onto his hands. They’re a little big, going too far up his wrists and hanging off the tips of his fingers, but they’re warm and soft. 

He holds them up to his face, trying to warm his cold cheeks, and he gets a hint of the other man’s cologne. It smells woodsy, a little like sandalwood and a hint of leather. 

“I’m sorry about tonight.” Alexander says as Thomas pulls out of his parking spot. 

The other man shoots him a confused look, “Why are you sorry?”

“I invited you to come and then I got drunk off my ass before you even showed up. That seems kind of shitty.”

Thomas’s hand comes to rest on his thigh, just above his knee, and it’s the most innocent of touches, but it makes Alex’s heart race even faster. 

“You don’t have to apologize for having fun, Alexander. And, besides, I had a good time. It’s interesting to see you not so put together for once.”

“Fuck you, I’m always put together.” He says on instinct, although his words lack bite, “But I am really glad you came. I had fun - with you.”

Thomas’s hand squeezes once before it disappears, and Alexander immediately misses the warmth it provided. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, Eliza said you were in a mood before I showed up. Any chance you’ll tell me why?”

Alexander exhales a silent laugh through his nose and shakes his head as it falls back against the seat behind him, “It’s nothing really.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, but his words sound doubtful, “Just know, if I’ve done something to upset you, I honestly didn’t mean to, and you can tell me. I’d like to apologize if I did something wrong.”

And he sounds so genuinely guilty about the idea of upsetting Alexander, that it makes guilt curl in his stomach. Because the truth is, Thomas hasn’t done anything wrong. Alexander is just being ridiculous, reading too much into everything, and hurting his own pride in return. 

“You didn’t, Thomas. I promise.”

“Okay,” Thomas tells him, “But if I ever do, you can tell me. Because I like that we’re friends now. It’s nice, and I’d rather not ruin it all over something stupid.”

Alexander can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, despite his growing exhaustion, “I like that we’re friends too.”

Thomas shoots him a smile in the dark, and it makes his chest feel tight and heavy. Alexander simply closes his eyes, and adds that to the “Do Not Touch” box in his head. 

He blinks them back open, taking in Thomas’s profile in the dark. The soft slope of his nose, the neatly cut trim of his beard, the flash of too white teeth in the dark. He has that natural type of handsome, with the charming smile and the flash of dark eyes, that Alexander had always craved. He could credit Thomas’s genes for it, or maybe his growing up in old money, but damn. 

How had he never really, truly, noticed how handsome he was before?

“Well thank you,” Thomas says out of the blue and it takes Alexander a moment before the realization settles. S_hit _did he say that out loud?

He hears Thomas’s chuckle of amusement, “Yes, Alex, you did.”

“I’m going to stop thinking things now,” He says, mostly to himself, leaning back against the chair and closing his eyes again. 

Thankfully, Thomas doesn’t bring his comment up for the rest of the ride. 

When they get to his apartment, Thomas walks him inside. Alexander is still mostly leaning on him for balance as they ride up the elevator and cross the hallway. He unlocks Alexander’s door, letting the other man direct him where to go, before they arrive at his bedroom. 

Alexander sits down on the bed carefully, trying not to either embarrass or injure himself. He kicks off his shoes before pulling his shirt over his head. The gloves get pulled off next, and he sits them - gently - on his nightstand. 

Thomas stands next to the bed, averting his eyes as Alex shimmies out of his pants and tucks himself under the comforter. Once his body is covered, Thomas sits down on the bed next to him. 

“I’ll bring you some water. I think you’ll need it in the morning.” He says, lips pulled up in amusement. 

When the other man makes a move to leave, Alexander’s hand darts out and grabs Thomas by the wrist before he gets the chance. He brings the other man’s gloved hand close to him, and Thomas uses the opportunity to brush a stand of hair out of Alex’s face. 

“It’s late,” Alexander says, “You could stay.”

Thomas’s hand brushes against his cheek, and Alex leans into the touch. He turns his face, feels the way Thomas’s gloves brush against his nose and lips. The fabric is soft, warm, and smell of that same woodsy cologne from before. 

“That’s tempting, darlin’, quite tempting actually, but I really shouldn’t.”

Alexander’s bottom lip shoots out just a little, and God, he’s not drunk enough anymore to be pouting, “Why not?”

“Well,” Thomas says, “For one, I’ve got a hungry mouth at home I need to feed.”

Alexander’s brows furrow in confusion, and Thomas’s hand is still there, rubbing soothing circles along his face. 

“My cat, Locke.”

“You have a cat?” Alexander blinks at him, “And you named it after John Locke?”

He feels Thomas’s chuckle. “I do and I did, but we can talk about her when you’re sober, okay? For now, just get some sleep.”

Thomas is looking at him and even in the dark of the room, Alexander can see the way his eyes look. It’s the same way they looked last night in the parking lot, open and vulnerable, and Alexander wants so badly to lean up and kiss him. 

“I should go,” Thomas says, voice hesitant, but he doesn’t move his hand.

Alexander leans further into his hand, feels the way Thomas’s fingers strokes his cheek, almost as if he’s carassing it. 

“You don’t have to.”

“It appears you’re testing all my self control tonight," Thomas says softly, "But I’d really rather you not attack me in the morning when you don’t remember extending the invitation.”

“I’ll remember this.” Alexander says, almost as if his words are a promise - one he knows he probably won’t be able to keep. Alexander’s ability to recall a previous night’s drunken events is shockingly terrible. “Eliza says I make killer pancakes.”

“Well then,” Thomas says with a smile, “I might have to take you up on that sometime, but not tonight.”

His hand brushes against Alexander’s bottom lip and Alex sucks in a deep breath to keep himself from doing something he’ll regret. 

“Okay,” He relents after a moment, “But, for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you came tonight.” Alexander says, unable to let Thomas leave without repeating his previous words. 

“Me too, _ Schatz. _” Thomas says and Alexander blinks at him, trying to translate the word in his head. He doesn’t know what language it is, and the word fails to register anything in his brain.

Instead of thinking about it, he simply squeezes Thomas’s hand in his own, feels the way Thomas brushes his fingers against Alex’s cheek on last time and then they brush another strand of hair out of his eyes, before he pulls away. 

“Get some sleep, Alexander.”

“Goodnight Thomas.”

He feels the bed shift as Thomas rises, and then he’s falling, peacefully and without hesitation, into the sweet oblivion of sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not including translations, because - technically - Alexander doesn't know what Thomas said. and since we only get Alex's perspective, we - too - don't know what he said. But, you know, I can't stop you from googling it ;)
> 
> Also [here's](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/05-12-02-0371) Washington's statement of neutrality, in which he really said anyone caught aiding either side would not be protected by the United States. Which seems a little harsh, in my professional opinion. 
> 
> (standard reminder that if you don't comment and tell me otherwise, I'll assume this is shitty and doubt myself as I write the next chapter)


	13. gucci gloves and an agenda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so you might be wondering about my name change, and it is explained over on my Tumblr, which is now: writtenrevolution 
> 
> but other than my name change here and on Tumblr, everything else stays the same. you still get to look forward to my shitty writing ;)
> 
> Let me know what you think.

Alexander winces at the bright, white light that assaults his eyes. He groans into his pillow, burying his face back into the darkness beneath him. It is, for the one millionth time, that he wishes he had been smart enough to close his damn blinds. 

He sighs into the pillow, body waking up of its own accord, and Alex feels the last remnants of his dream slipping away from him. It had been weird, unsurprisingly so after a night of drinking. He can only remember bits and pieces, and he’s a little distrurbed by the fact that Thomas Jefferson had taken the staring role in it. 

The dream is mostly a memory by now, and he barely hangs onto the last traces. White gloves, leather, Thomas saying, “darling” in that stupidly sweet accent. 

As much as he wants to go back to bed, to fully enjoy the time Saturday offers him, he knows it’s impossible at this point. His head is too awake, his limbs already growing antsy and his stomach growling. 

He rolls onto his side, blinking slowly to let his eyes adjust to the bright sun that shines through his window. He slings his feet out of bed and onto the floor. As soon as they hit the hardwood, Alexander freezes in his tracks. 

There, sitting innocently on his nightstand, is a pair of white, leather gloves. There’s a sneaking suspicion - a whispered thought - in the back of his mind that says he only knows one person who wears gloves like that. 

He reaches out, fingers brushing the soft fabric, and pulls them closer for inspection. They feel expensive and heavy in his hands, pleated down each finger into a delicate design at the base of the wrist. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and looks at the tag that lays inside - just inside the wrist. 

Gucci. 

That voice in his head is louder now, almost screaming at him to accept the only possible explanation. Alexander thinks back to his dream. To Thomas’s light touch, to those white gloves, and winces. 

There was only one person he knew that wore white leather gloves. Only one person he knew that would buy white, leather, gucci gloves. 

Alexander comes to the conclusion that his dream might not have been a dream. 

He grabs his phone from where it sits on the corner of his bed. Thankfully, it is still somewhat charged - although his battery hovers just over ten percent. 

It’s as soon as he sees his lockscreen, that the conclusion becomes solidified. 

He has new messages from Eliza, Angelica, one from both Lafayette and John in their group chat, and lastly, one from Thomas. 

Alexander opens them, reading quickly through the words, as he pieces together the events from last night. 

_ Eliza (3:49AM): You guys were so cute tonight. Hercules and I agree. _

_ Angelica (4:02AM): Dot think we’re arenst talking about this wen im soburr. _

_ From: Group Chat - John Laurens & Lafayette _

_ John Laurens (4:16AM): Lafayette,,,,, am I too drunk or did Thomas just take Alexander home???????? _

_ Lafayette (4:17AM): You are too drunk, but also not incorrect. _

_ Thomas(4:48AM): Please don’t die in your sleep. It’d look bad for my reputation. _

Alexander takes a deep breath as it becomes abundantly clear that last night did happen. Thomas had come to the bar, Alexander had gotten incredibly toasted, and then nothing. He doesn’t remember much else besides drunken blur and a few mumbled words. 

Alex quickly dials Eliza’s number, holding his phone up to his ear as he falls back against the bed. It rings twice before she picks up. 

“I bet you feel like hell,” Her voice greets him, too chipper and sweet on the other end, and Alexander groans. 

“I do.” He says, “Not surprising though.”

“You did drink a lot, but I’m sure Thomas is more than willing to take care of you. It seemed like he didn’t mind last night, at least.”

Alexander hesitates, “Yeah, about that.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, before a sigh breaks through the phone, “You don’t remember much, huh?”

“Not really. Care to fill in the blanks?”

“Well you were being miserable until Thomas showed up, but you were well beyond drunk at that point. You guys danced, which was really cute, although it was more of a sway to be completely honest. And then when we went back to the table, you sat on his lap and like cuddled against his chest and it was the most adorable thing I have ever seen.” Eliza tells him, “Then he took you home, and I don’t know anything after that.”

“Oh my God, I have to quit my job.” Alexander says, feeling his humiliation increase ten-fold at her words. 

Not only had he been drunk and stupid, but he had fucking sat on Thomas’s lap. He had to resign immediately; he couldn’t bare looking the man in the face ever again. 

“Oh stop being dramatic; it was cute. And besides, I’d go out on a limb and say he was enjoying your attention. You made him blush more than once, and the whole time you were on his lap, he never took his hand off your thigh.”

“He was probably just being polite.”

She scoffs into the phone, “Being polite is helping you sit down, not treating you like a priceless treasure. You guys would be so good together, Alexander.”

“Eliza,” He says like a warning. 

“Besides, he’s smart, charming, and handsome. What else could you want?”

Her words bring back a memory, deep from the back of his brain, of drunken words. 

_ How had he never really, truly, noticed how handsome he was before? _

He recalls Thomas’s response, knows that he had said the words out loud, and feels mortification creep slowly into his bones. Fuck, he really hadn’t meant to say anything like that. Especially not when Thomas could hear him. 

“He sent me a text. I guess I’ll reply.”

Alexander can hear her smile through the phone, “Just give him a chance, Alexander. We’ll talk soon. I love you.”

“I love you too. Goodbye, Eliza.”

She hangs up soon after that, leaving Alexander alone with his thoughts once more. He rereads Thomas’s message, feels the way heat climbs up his chest, and rolls his eyes. The only way to not make this weird is to pretend like everything isn’t weird. 

He types a reply, and sends it before he can back out. 

_ To Thomas (10:34AM): I’m alive, although it doesn’t really feel like it. _

Stupidly, he stares at his screen waiting for a response. It’s not ten seconds after the message says delivered, that his phone begins to ring, Thomas’s name flashing on the caller ID. He panics, dropping the phone onto the bed before snatching it back up. He swipes his finger across the screen and holds it to his ear. 

“Hello?” Alexander says, and his voice comes out harsh and uneven. Fuck vodka, honestly. 

“You sound even shittier than I expected.” Thomas’s voice is smooth on the other end, “I got to say, you’re head must be killing you right now.”

“It is, and you’re voice isn’t helping.” He quips back, but there’s no heat to it. 

Thomas simply laughs into the phone, his voice light and like a melody, “Is that anyway to treat the man that took care of your drunk ass last night?”

“Oh God,” Alex says, “Please don’t remind me. I have enough humiliation to last a lifetime.”

Thomas is quiet for a second, “You remember last night?”

Alexander sighs into the phone, “A bit of it. Not much, I’m afraid. Although, I’m going to go out on a limb and say the gloves on my nightstand are yours?”

“They indeed are.”

“And I have them why?” Alexander asks, trying not to sound too interested. 

He closes his eyes, trying to remember anything else from last night. Words, or actions, or feelings. There’s almost nothing there, though, only those fleeting memories he thought were dreams. 

“You said your hands were cold.”

“Oh,” He says in response, “Thank you then, I suppose. For the gloves and for babysitting me.”

“You’re welcome, Alexander. It really was no trouble. Plus, seeing you drunk out of your mind was actually quite amusing.” He can hear the amusement bleeding through Thomas’s words, and it makes him roll his eyes. 

“I hate you.” Alex says in response. 

When Thomas replies, his words are light and teasing, “Not what you were saying last night.”

“I hate you so much; I’m hanging up now. I’ll talk to you Monday when I’m not dying.”

He hangs up on Thomas’s sharp, and frankly stupid, laughter. His phone gets dropped onto the bed next to him, and Alexander falls - face first - into his mattress. He rolls onto his side, picking up the gloves from beside him and holding them in his hands. They’re nice gloves, expensive and beautiful - timelessly classic - and so fitting for Thomas’s personality. 

He closes his eyes, willing his stomach to settle, and holds the gloves to his chest as he - thankfully - manages to doze off again. 

Monday morning comes too quick and somehow not quick enough. He’s dreading the thought of going in, the thought of seeing Thomas after Friday night, and he tries to talk himself off the metaphorical ledge on his drive there. Thomas had seemed fine on the phone Saturday morning. He had been his usual sarcastic self, teasing Alexander about his drunken night and overall ridiculousness. 

He gave no hint that Alexander had done anything too embarrassing. And, yes, Eliza had said that Alexander sat in his lap - which the rest of their friend group had confirmed - but Alex was drunk, and besides, Thomas had made no mention of it. If Alex’s drunk actions had annoyed him, surely he would have taken the opportunity to tell him. 

Alex’s phone chimes in his pocket on his way inside, and he doesn’t have to read it to know who it’s from. There’s only one other person that’d be texting him this early, and he doesn’t really want to respond to it right now. 

He’s managed, somehow, to put Angelica off this long. Surely, he can keep the winning streak going just a few days longer before she hunted him down. 

They have a cabinet meeting today, a meeting where Washington will bring up Alexander’s Phase 2, and he’s not quite ready for it. His documents are all in order, his argument and counter argument replies ready to go, but he’s still desperate to put it off. After Friday night, and the increasing closeness he finds himself falling into with Thomas, the thought of ruining it all makes him feel a particular type of way. Alex doesn’t really know how to describe it. He’s excited at the prospect of finally getting his banks, but the knowledge that he could lose Thomas’s friendship in the process hurts. 

He dives into his work, filing through whatever random financial requests make their way across his desk, and doesn’t come up for air until Maria fetches him for the cabinet meeting. It’s just before lunch when she interrupts his work, saying nothing but tossing him a bottle of ibuprofen. 

He really should give her a raise. 

Alexander takes two, swallowing them with a sip of too cold coffee, and packs his computer into his satchel. The trip to the elevator is uneventful, and Alex has a terribly hopeful thought that maybe he’ll make it to the conference room without seeing Thomas. 

That thought proves fruitless when, just before the door closes, a too polished black shoe slips between them. 

Fuck. 

The doors open back up and Alexander looks up into Thomas’s face. The man’s expression looks annoyed, but it slips into an easy smile when he sees who’s already on the waiting elevator. 

He walks inside and Alexander smashes the closed door button. 

Alex takes a deep breath, and then finally looks back at Thomas. 

His grin is more shit eating than usual. 

Alex simply raises an unimpressed eyebrow, “Go on, get it out.”

“Oh my God, drunk you is literally the most adorable thing I have ever seen. And you were so nice too, like maybe you should drink more often. I’d make you more bearable to be around. You were tossing me compliments like candy.”

“Don’t let it get to your ego. It barely fits through the doors now.”

“Oh Thomas, you’re so handsome,” Thomas’s voice gets a little higher and Alexander rolls his eyes at the horrible impression, “Oh Thomas, your soulmate gloves! You shouldn’t have!”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“You do when you’re drunk.”

A smile cracks through Alexander’s facade of annoyance and he tries - and fails - to keep his lips pursed. “I hate you so much right now, you asshole.”

The doors ding and Thomas shoots him one last glance, “At least I’m still handsome.”

And then he’s laughing his way off the elevator, leaving Alexander sighing in his wake. He takes a deep breath and follows him off the elevator. 

There is a part of him that’s happy Thomas isn’t taking the shit he said and did Friday to heart. He’d really rather not try and stumble his way through that conversation. Although, there’s another part of him that almost does want Thomas to ask about it. To ask if he meant it, if he means it, and what it means if he does. But, as Alexander drops into his seat in the conference room, he figures that’s not really up to him. 

He could bring it up, tell Thomas he meant it, but he’s really not in the mood to immediately be shut down. And, besides, Alexander had been drunk. He knows that drunk words are sober thoughts, but he can’t even begin to delve into what they meant. Yes, he thinks Thomas is handsome. Yes, he likes spending time with him. But that’s all there is. There is nothing deeper, nothing that needs to be dug through and sorted out, so he’s simply going to keep his mouth shut. There’s no point in rooting around in something that’s bound to bring them both misery. 

Washington’s hands clap together, and it brings the meeting together. 

“Okay everyone, today’s agenda is simple. Secretary Knox has a couple of announcements, and then Secretary Hamilton has the floor.”

Alexander sees the look Thomas throws him across the table, a curious little twitch of his lips that makes Alexander shift in his chair. 

Henry starts talking about a flagship initiative that in absolutely no way concerns Alexander or his department, not with the newly passed budget at least, so he sinks into his chair and sort of zones out. 

He keeps his eyes on Thomas, because he can’t look away. He had known they were semi-friends, suspected it at least, but Friday night was the confirmation he needed. Not only did Thomas show up to the bar, when he was supposed to be with Martha, but he had watched out for Alexander and even taken him home. It was something you did for friends, not allies, and it makes Alex’s heart feel a little more full. 

Henry finishes up quite soon and Washington passes the floor to Alexander. 

“The first announcement is that I am rejecting Lee’s reelection proposals number 2 through 46. The only ones I am allocating funds to are proposal 1, and then 47 through 50, but on the basis that the PR team looks at them and makes the changes I’ve deemed necessary.”

It’s silent for a moment, and Alexander thinks he might get out unscathed, before there’s a voice from the back of the room. 

“Unbelievable.”

Alexander turns his head, looking down his nose at Lee. He sits in his chair, expression telling Alex that he’s rearing up for a fight. 

“What’s unbelievable is the President hired someone so truly incompetent at his job.” Alexander’s words are like ice. “When you learn how to create something that isn’t absolute garbage, we can discuss further steps.”

Lee takes a deep breath, teeth showing like he’s going to take a bite out of Alexander. Then, in a voice that shakes with anger, he says, “You egotistical, self-righteous prick. You think I’m incompetent at my job? News flash, Secretary Hamilton, everyone here thinks you’re incompetent at yours. You talk too much, you’re so Goddamn picky, and - worse of all - you’re a fucking asshole.”

Alexander rears back, words coming to the tip of his tongue. He feels anger pulsing, hot and thick, through his blood. 

Before he has a chance to say anything, someone else speaks for him. 

“You’re right Lee,” Thomas says, and Alexander winces at his tone. Had he been wrong? Had Thomas been playing him the whole time? He looks over at Thomas, eyes wide and hurt heavy in his chest, but before he can feel betrayed, Thomas continues speaking. 

“There is an egotistical, self-righteous prick in the room, but it’s not Alexander. He’s proven himself time and time again, and he’s accomplished more in this past year than I think you’ll accomplish in a lifetime.” Thomas’s words are measured but his eyes are narrowed, “I think I speak for the majority in the cabinet when I say you’re the biggest _ fucking _ asshole. Keep in mind that I can and will make your life in this cabinet hell, so it’d be best that you watch your tone when you speak to Secretary Hamilton.”

Alexander, along with the rest of the cabinet, blink in surprise. Lee’s eyes are wide and his jaw literally snaps shut with a harsh click. Henry, who sits next to Alexander, laughs quietly to himself. 

“I- Thank you, Secretary Jefferson.” Alexander says, once he’s finally got himself collected enough to speak. He can’t believe that he had doubted Thomas again, but the man had proved him wrong. Not only did he shut Lee down without missing a bit, but he threatened him too. 

And now Alexander was taking the biggest risk of all, and possibly sacrificing that loyalty to get his National Bank. He knows Thomas is going to be pissed, knows they’re going to argue about it, but he can only hope that - even though he doesn’t support it - Thomas understands where he’s coming from. Alexander had understood why he gave the money to France, surely he can request the same understanding in return. 

“I’ll remind you that cabinet meetings are for polite behaviour and you all are to act like mature gentlemen.” Washington speaks, “That being said, Alexander, please continue.”

He doesn’t look at Thomas as he stands from his chair. His hands grab for his satchel, unlatching the buckle and pulling out the papers he’d printed off. He dumps them onto the table, watches as Thomas reaches out to slide one closer to him. 

Alexander sees the exact moment recognition hits him. Thomas’s eyebrows furrow for only a moment, and then his neck snaps up, eyes looking at Alexander in what can only be described as complete and utter betrayal. 

Alex swallows and continues nonetheless, “After the passing of my assumption bill, I’m prepared to move onto Phase 2 of my plan to establish a trustworthy and efficiently run financial system for the United States.”

He hears a scoff but continues, “Phase 1 was the assumption of state debts; Phase 2 is the establishment of a National Bank. Of course, this will have to pass through Congress first, but once the lame ducks are voted out, I see no problem getting it passed. However, once it gets congressional approval, the motion will be in His Excellency’s hands, which is why I bring this to the table now. It’s best to be ahead of the game so I can plan accordingly. In the papers in front of you, there is a detailed argument in favour of the establishment, any and all concerns should be looked for in there first and then brought to me.”

Washington nods his head at the front of the table, leaning back in his chair, “Perfect, Secretary Hamilton. Is there any counter-argument that my Secretaries can come up with so far?”

“Can I have a few days to prepare something, Mr. President?” Thomas asks, his voice calm and collected. 

“Of course, Secretary Jefferson.” He says in response, “Hamilton, do you have anything else to add?”

He shakes his head, “No, Your Excellency.”

“Excellent then. I remind you all that I need projected initiatives by next Tuesday, and that we have a press conference about the new Education project three days from now. Hamilton, I’ll need projected expense by tomorrow.” Washington says, his voice a deep and calm below, “If that’s all there is, then the meeting is dismissed.”

Alexander collects the few papers that were left over on the table, watching from the corner of his eye as Thomas talked in quick whispers with Washington. 

Washington nods twice as Alexander slides the papers into his satchel and then pats Thomas on the shoulder, before he’s striding out of the room with long steps. 

“Thomas, I-”

Thomas doesn’t acknowledge him, simply walks past like Alexander hadn’t even spoken. 

He throws his satchel over his shoulder and runs after the man, “Thomas, wait, please.”

Alexander gets the elevator just as the doors were starting to close. He tries, and fails to get his foot in the door before they slam shut in front of him. 

Stairs it is, he supposes. 

Alexander climbs them like his life depends on it, his feet echoing in the stairwell. He swipes himself through the door and rounds the corner. He catches a glimpse of white walk through Thomas’s door, and manages to follow it inside, arms out and catching the door before it can slam closed. 

“You bastard.” Thomas spits, whirling around like he had known Alexander would follow him, “You didn’t think mentioning the establishment of a bank was important when we were trying to compromise?”

“We weren’t talking about the banks yet, Thomas, we were talking about the assumption!”

“Which was phase 1 of a two part plan, you asshole!”

Alexander winces at the word, “Don’t act like you weren’t up to some shady shit too. I saw your foreign aid transfer. Am I expected to believe it's just a coincidence you transferred the full amount two days before Washington’s statement of neutrality?”

Thomas’s eyes are sharp as he stares at Alexander. After a moment, when it seems like he’s not going to back down. Then, just when Alex is sure he’s ruined everything, Thomas looks away and a deep sigh gets released from his mouth. 

Thomas sits down on the couch in his office and drops his head into his hands. He stays there for a moment before one of his gloved hands run through the length of his curls. 

Alexander takes a slow step forward and sits down next to him. He wants to reach out, apologize or comfort him, but his hands won’t move. It’s not his place. 

After what feels like a long time, Thomas sighs again. “I’m sorry.”

Alexander can barely suppress his huff. What the hell could he possibly be apologizing for?

“For?”

Thomas looks up at him, defeat in his beautiful grey eyes. Alex sees his throat move around a swallow. “For calling you a bastard, and an asshole. Didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay, I’m sorry for not telling you everything, but I knew you’d never support it.”

The corner of Thomas’s mouth twitches just a little. “Same reason I didn’t tell you everything either. But France is on the brink of war, and I couldn’t sit by and do nothing.”

“I don’t support what you did, and I still think funding their dick measuring contest with England is a terrible idea, but I get why you did it.”

Thomas’s eyes are soft as they look into his own, and it makes something in his drunken slur from last night shake loose. It’s a memory, mostly only words and Thomas’s eyes, but the more he focuses on how those eyes look right now, the more the memory comes back to him. 

_ “It’s late,” Alexander had said “You could stay.” _

_ Thomas’s hand brushed against his cheek, and Alex leaned into the touch. He turned his face, felt the way Thomas’s gloves brushed against his nose and lips. The fabric was soft, warm, and smelled of that same woodsy cologne from before. _

_ “That’s tempting, darlin’, quite tempting actually, but I really shouldn’t.” _

_ Alexander’s bottom lip shot out just a little, and God, he was not drunk enough to be pouting, “Why not?” _

_ “Well,” Thomas said, “For one, I’ve got a hungry mouth at home I need to feed.” _

_ Alexander’s brows furrowed in confusion, and Thomas’s hand was still there, rubbing soothing circles along his face. _

_ “My cat, Locke.” _

_ “You have a cat?” Alexander blinked at him, “And you named it after John Locke?” _

_ He felt Thomas’s chuckle. “I do and I did, but we can talk about her when you’re sober, okay? For now, just get some sleep.” _

Oh my God. He had asked Thomas to stay over? That thought in among itself is embarrassing and makes heat crawl into his cheeks. 

Thomas hasn’t mentioned it, but Alexander thinks it might be able to bring a little humour back into their push and pull. 

Alexander scoots a little closer, Thomas’s eyes still on his, and slowly reaches out a hand. He sits it on Thomas’s thigh, intending for it to be nothing more than a light and comforting touch. Thomas tenses up at the contact before relaxing and then his hand moves and comes to rest, fabric warm, on top of Alexander’s. 

It’s an olive branch.

“I can’t believe you named your cat after John Locke.”

His words a met with a laugh from Thomas, who’s hand squeezes against Alex’s. 

“So you remember that?” 

“A bit.”

Thomas raises an eyebrow, “You remember begging me to stay over?”

He feels another rush of heat into his cheeks, but smiles through his embarrassment, “What can I say, I’m a sucker for a sleepover.”

“It was adorable, really.”

Alexander raises an eyebrow, “Says the man who was dropping pet names like candy.” He mimics Thomas’s turn of phrase from earlier, “I lost track of the amount of times you called me darling.”

There’s something there, Alexander thinks, some other pet name he can’t put his finger on. It was in a different language, he knows, but he can’t remember the way it fell off Thomas’s lips. 

“What can I say?” Thomas responds, “I’m fond of them.”

Alexander gives up fighting against his smile, and allows himself to scoot just half an inch closer. His hand is still sandwiched between Thomas’s thigh and his glove. 

“I mean, John Locke really?” He says, watching the way Thomas’s teeth shine white when he responds in return. 

“I hate you so much right now.”

Alex licks his lips, smiling back, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hi on my new Tumblr: writtenrevolution


	14. introduction to flirting 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't even realize we hit 50,000 words last chapter. That's honestly crazy to me, because this was only supposed to be a one-shot. I have you all to thank, however, for your kind words and constant encouragement. I wouldn't have made it this far without you. 
> 
> Also, let me just say, the next chapter is a motherfucking whirlwind. Prepare yourself for so much pining, and drunken feels, and even more pet names. 
> 
> (PS, you might have noticed the change in chapter count. I added a few more to really flush this bad boy out, and while I think it should stay the same from now on, there's a chance I might add more. I haven't decided yet.)

It’s that next morning that Alexander finally finishes up the rest of his work. He’s usually ahead of schedule, but he has finally gotten to the point that he’s more than several weeks in advance. If he was anyone else, that might be cause to slack, but he’s never been the type to stop short just because he was ahead of the game. 

He scrolls through his agenda on his laptop, making notes about the few other things he can still finish working on. 

His email chimes and Alexander clicks the new box, opening an email from Washington. 

_ **From: gwash@exect.gov** _  
_ **To: aham@exect.gov; thjefferson@exect.gov; jadams@exect.gov; jmonroe@exect.gov; clee@exect.gov; henknox@exect.gov; nathgreene@exect.gov; aaburr@exect.gov** _  
_ **Subject: Senate Gala** _

_ **Please remember that the yearly Senate’s Gala is this Saturday. While attendance is not required, it is certainly a great opportunity to network and get to know other members on the staff. Please remember this is a professional event, so black tie is required and I would prefer my staff did not get belligerently drunk, as has happened in years past. ** _

_ **G. Wash** _

Alexander rolls his eyes, knowing Washington is more than likely talking about the Gala back when he was a Senator, when Alexander and John - both interns on his staff at the time - had drank a little too much and taken to dancing on the bar while singing a horrendously off key rendition of NSYNC’s, “Bye Bye Bye.” He’s already apologized a million times, so if Washington still couldn’t get over it, then Alexander was content to let him remain bitter. 

He clicks out of the email, his phone chiming in his pocket. He checks the screen, relieved to see that it's not Angelica. He still hasn’t responded to any of Angelica's messages, so he knows it's really only a matter of time. Thankfully, however, this time it’s Eliza. 

From Betsy (11:47AM): Any chance I can steal you from work for lunch?

It’s nearing lunchtime, and his stomach has been growling for the past twenty minutes. Alexander knows it’s more than likely her reaching out in an attempt to throw him and Thomas together, but he is hungry, and he does miss her. 

A sigh leaves his lips as he types a quick response. 

To Betsy (11:49AM): Of course. Where at?

Her reply is instantaneous. 

From Betsy (11:49AM): Zaytinyas on 9th. Food’s on me ;)

He sends back a simple thumbs up emoji and grabs his coat from the back of his chair. 

Alexander’s first hint should have been when he left the office. He took the long way - as always - to walk past Thomas's office. Peggy was at her desk, scrolling on her phone and paying him no mind. The door is open and Alex glances inside, sees that the room is empty. 

That was his first hint. 

The second hint is less of a hint and more of a slap to the face. It hits him when he pulls open the door to Zaytinya’s and sees Eliza sitting at a table in the back. It’s then that he notices the tall and handsome man sitting across from her. Alex stops in his tracks, takes in the tilt of his shoulders under his too dark black suit jacket and the springy ringlets that fall around his head like a halo. 

Eliza notices him theb, sends him a bright smile and a wave, and Alexander realizes he _was_ tricked. Not into talking about Thomas with her, but getting lunch with them. He rolls his eyes, not knowing exactly what she thought she was accomplishing here, and moves towards their table. 

Alexander takes the seat next to Thomas, out of spite, and shoots Eliza a glare. She simply returns it with a dimpled smile, and he feels the annoyance run out of his body. She obviously had the best intentions, even if they were completely wrong, but he couldn’t fault her for her determination in trying to find someone to make him happy. 

Thomas looks up from his menu and his eyebrows furrow when he sees Alexander sitting next to him. 

“I didn’t know you were coming.” Thomas says with a small smile, and its testament of how far they’ve come that Alexander isn’t immediately offended by his words. 

He smiles at him, stealing the menu from where it lays in front of Thomas and shrugs, “Didn’t know you were coming either, but I’m not upset by this stunning revelation.”

Thomas snorts and Alex looks up at Eliza’s raised eyebrows and all too pleased expression. “Sorry, did I forget to mention that I invited both of you?”

“You did.” Thomas says and Alexander nods his head in agreement. 

“Well,” She says, “Not important anymore.”

The waitress drops by soon after that, taking their orders. As soon as she’s gone, Alexander leans back in his chair. He feels the brush of fabric behind him and shoots a careful gaze at Thomas, sees the way his arm is draped across the back of Alexander’s seat. He licks his lips, focusing his gaze on Eliza, and pretends he didn’t notice. 

“I wanted to thank you again, Thomas, for your more than generous donation to the orphanage. Your generosity will not be forgotten, I swear.”

Alexander looks up at Thomas, sees his easy smile and the way the skin around his eyes crinkle as he shifts in his seat. There is a flush of dark grey across his cheeks and Alexander actually grins when he realizes Thomas is blushing. 

“It’s really the least I can do, Eliza.” He says, voice full of genuine conviction, “You have an amazing organization and I am more than willing to help any way I can.”

Eliza's lips curve at him in response, her straight white smile breathtaking and sincere. “And thank you for taking our dear Alexander home the other night too. It was hard enough trying to drag Angelica and Lafayette into the car, I can’t imagine trying to get Alex in there too.”

Thomas shoots a grin in his direction, teasing but handsome all the same, and Alexander can’t help the rush of heat into his cheeks. 

“It wasn’t a problem. Our dear Alexander provided me with enough entertainment to last a lifetime, isn’t that right, darlin’?” 

Alex rolls his eyes at the pet name, ignoring the way it sends his nerves into hyperdrive, and nudges his knee against Thomas’s. “Shut up.”

“He really is something when he’s drunk, isn’t he?” Eliza says, because she obviously hates him, “At least he seemed to actually listen to you. Usually, I have to literally drag him from the bar.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t too hard to take care of. Didn’t think we were going to make it up the elevator, though, he could barely stand.”

“He’s right here.” Alexander chimes in, feels the way Thomas’s knee taps into his again and hides his grin in his shirt sleeve. 

“Oh, you had to help him inside?”

“I did, got you all tucked into bed didn’t I, pumpkin?” Thomas says, and the pet name comes out drenched in that ridiculously sweet Southern drawl and Alex wants to cancel this whole lunch and throw himself into the Hudson. 

Eliza coos as Alex flips her the finger, hearing the way her melodic laugh echoes off the walls around them. 

“Don’t worry, darlin’, it was cute.” Thomas says, his voice low and directed at Alexander. 

He pulls his knee away and tries to knock it back into Thomas’s - hard - but he stops short when a gloved hand comes to rest on his own thigh. He can feel the warmth of the glove seep into the length of his pants, and then Thomas simply raises an eyebrow at him. 

Alexander can do nothing but stare into Thomas’s eyes, the grey bleeding into his dark pupils, and can’t find a single word. He can’t think of a teasing insult, a single mock, or anything intelligent or useful to say. He’s lost in the swirl of greys, unable to look away. 

He never thought grey was beautiful. It was too common, shading almost every object around him, but there was something different about the shades of grey that mixed in Thomas’s eyes. They were a softer shade, no set line between each colour, but rather the endless swirl of a thousand different greys blending together. And Alexander thought they were beautiful. 

Thomas is just looking at him, one hand still on the back of Alexander’s chair and one hand on his thigh, but he’s not saying anything. Alex feels his eyes move of their own accord, dropping just a couple inches to Thomas’s lips. His mouth feels too dry and he licks his lips before forcing his eyes back up. 

When he looks back into that shame shimmering grey as before, Thomas’s eyebrow quirks up just a little more. It's then that Alexander realizes how close they are, and that Thomas most definitely saw the flicker of his gaze down, and that Thomas most definitely knows what’s going on in his head. And then he remembers that they’re not alone. 

He clears his throat, dropping Thomas’s gaze at once and turns back to Eliza. Thomas’s hand moves his thigh, and he tries to hide his disappointment as the heat from his leg vanishes. 

Eliza’s looking between the two of them, her lips pressed into that same pleased smile as before. 

“So, Eliza, about Christmas at the orphanage,” Alexander begins, finally able to tune Thomas out enough to focus on an actual conversation. He doesn’t miss the way the hand draped across his chair doesn’t move, however. 

Lunch ends up being a decently pleasant affair. He enjoys the time spent with Eliza, as always, and has the bonus of being with Thomas too. The food is good, nowhere worth the fortune Eliza’s going to drop on it, but decent enough. 

When the waitress drops off the bill, Thomas slides his black amex card on top of it before Eliza can even move to grab her purse. 

“Thomas, please let me buy lunch.” Eliza says, “If only as a thank you for your donation.”

“Eliza, please. It really is no trouble, and I’d like to buy lunch to thank you for letting me join you all Friday.”

She relents after a moment, her smile returning full force. “You really are too charming. It’s like I simply can’t say no to you.”

Thomas’s grin is insufferably handsome. “It comes with the territory.”

Eliza laughs and it’s as beautiful as always, but Alexander simply cannot look away from the genuine smile on Thomas’s face. 

The waitress swipes the bill and Thomas’s card, returning almost at once. Thomas signs the bill, and Alex sees him add a thirty dollar tip, before he signs his name like he didn’t just drop over $200 on lunch. 

Eliza walks with them out the door, before she turns and offers them both smiles.

She pulls Alexander into a lingering hug, her perfume familiar and soft. “Be good, my love.” She says, pressing a kiss onto his cheek, “And text Angelica back.”

She pulls away before Alex can respond, pulling Thomas into a hug. She kisses his cheek, and Alex notices the way Thomas returns the gesture with a kiss to her grey flushed cheek. 

“Thomas, dear, lunch was delightful. We really should meet up more. I’d love to get to know you better.” Eliza says as she pulls away, her arms still resting on Thomas’s biceps. 

“I would love nothing more, Eliza.”

She grins at both of them, turning to head to her car, and only looking back once to blow them a kiss. Alexander rolls his eyes, but sends her one in return. 

When he turns to Thomas, the other man is smiling softly at him. Alex raises his eyebrows in response, and Thomas makes no move to comment. 

“You walk here?” Thomas asks after a minute and Alexander responds with a nod of his head. 

It’s colder now then when he left the White House, and his teeth are chattering only slightly as goosebumps break out across his arms. 

“You want to walk back with me?” 

“Yes, please, but you better walk quick because I’m fucking frigid.” 

He sees the exasperated look Thomas throws his way but decided to ignore it. That is, until, he sees movement from the corner of his eye, and then the soft, warm press of fabric over his shoulders. Alex looks down, sees his own body wrapped in Thomas’s black suit jacket. 

When he looks back up, intent on telling Thomas he was fine, the man was already strolling - hands in his pockets - towards the White House. 

Alexander smiles to himself, teeth digging into his bottom lip, as he follows after him. 

The jacket warms him up remarkably fast, and he can’t help but pull it closer to him. It’s warm and soft, smelling of Thomas’s cologne and the restaurant, and Alex thinks it’s a nice mix of the both. He’s surprised somehow, once again, by the display of Thomas’s caring side. 

He really shouldn’t be, Alex thinks. He’s seen more than once now that Thomas can be kind, caring, and thoughtful. But everytime that action is directed at him, not at something else, it still brings his mind to a standstill. 

There’s a part of him that wants to look into it. A part that wants to pry open that Do Not Touch box in his brain and put all the pieces of the mysterious puzzle together. 

But there’s another part, a louder part, telling Alex not to. This thing with Thomas is good, surprising, but it’s good. He’s happy for the first time in a really long time, and he’s found a friendship with someone that seems to get him. Thomas has proven time and time again that he cares about Alexander, and he thinks that should be enough. He shouldn’t rush to label things, to push too far, when everything is perfect as is. 

And besides, there’s two things he doesn’t want to take into account. The first being Martha, and the second being both of their soulmates. So, if he can’t be unbiased about it, Alexander decides that he simply won't look into it at all. 

“Are you coming?” Thomas asks, a few steps ahead of him and Alexander quickens his pace. 

He meets Thomas just before they cross the street, and when Thomas offers Alex his arm, a single raised eyebrow in the form of a question, Alexander takes it without a second thought. His arm is wrapped through Thomas’s, heat bleeding through the jacket, as they walk across the street. 

He thinks that after they reach the other side, Thomas will drop his arm and move away. However, as his feet move down the sidewalk, having long since crossed the road, Thomas’s arm is still there. Alexander is a little less than surprised to find that it doesn’t really bother him. 

“What you’re doing for Eliza is really great, by the way.” Alexander says, unable to stand the silence they’re in - even if it was comfortable. 

Okay, so maybe he just likes the sound of Thomas’s voice. Sue him. 

“I’m just doing what anyone in my position should do. I have too much money for one person, it only seems fair to contribute to other people’s happiness.”

Alexander leans closer to Thomas, his stomach brushing against the arm that his linked around his, “Intelligent, handsome, and generous. I dare say you’re the full package.”

He keeps his gaze forward, but doesn’t miss the look Thomas sends his way, “Awe, you think I’m the full package?”

“Shut up,”

He hears Thomas’s laughter and digs his teeth into his lip again, trying to hide his smile.

“You know you can’t just tell me to shut up everytime I quote your own words back to you.” Thomas replies, his tone as teasing as ever. 

When Alex finally drags his gaze away from the sidewalk and back into those grey shaded eyes, he finds that same easy smile directed his way. 

“I hate you.”

“You keep saying that, and yet you also keep voluntarily spending time with me. Actions speak louder than words, darlin’.”

“Your accent is insufferable.”

Thomas hums in acknowledgment, “If that’s what you have to tell yourself.”

Alexander huffs out a loud, “It really is! Sometimes you talk so damn slow, that I honestly think I might age a decade before you get to the end of the sentence.”

“I’ve been told my accent is charming.” 

Alex smirks, “It doesn’t count if it was from James.”

“Oh, it’s James now? Since when are the two of you on a first name basis? Should I be worried?”

“Oh please,” Alexander says in response, “The man despises me. I think that should be the least of your worries, _ dear _.”

When Thomas responds, there is amused exasperation colouring his tone. “James doesn’t hate you.”

“He does.”

“Trust me when I tell you he really doesn’t.” says Thomas, “He’s just protective.”

This gets his attention. “Protective? Why exactly does he think I’m a threat to your friendship?”

“Let’s just say it's a long story.”

Alex huffs a breath through his nose, “It always is with you.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you someday.” Thomas responds, “But today is not the day.”

“Fine, keep your secrets.” Alexander says around a hum. 

They walk in silence for a few more moments before Thomas speaks again, “You get Washington’s email about the Gala?”

He groans in annoyance, “Please don’t remind me.”

“Well, are you going?”

Alex raises an eyebrow, “Why?”

“I’m trying to figure out who will be in attendance before I decide if it’s worth my time or not.”

He weighs the options in his head. Alexander really wasn’t a fan of the boring political Galas, but he can admit that they could be quite lucrative with the connections they garner an individual. 

“Maybe I’ll go, but I really don’t want to show up alone.”

Thomas is quiet for a moment, which makes Alexander think he isn’t going to say anything. He opts to fill in the silence. Which proves to be a mistake, since Thomas choses that exact moment to speak as well. 

“If you wanted, we could go tog-”

“Lafayette will prob-”

Alexander stops when he realizes Thomas had begun speaking and offers the man a half sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you go first.” Thomas says. 

“Lafayette will no doubt drag me as his date. Adrienne isn’t coming to the states for another couple weeks, so he’ll probably force me to go.”

Thomas doesn’t say anything in response, and when Alexander looks at him, the man almost looks - dare he say - disappointed. 

“Ah,” Thomas continues eventually, “I see.”

“What were you going to say? Before I interrupted you.”

When Thomas looks back over at him, whatever emotions were on his face have vanished. He shakes his head, a polite smile curving on his lips.

“You know, I don’t even remember.”

“Well, if you remember please do let me know. I’m sure it was as enlightened as anything else you say.”

“Everything I say is enlightened, darlin’. You should know that by now.”

Alexander grins in response, feels the way Thomas’s arm is steady wrapped around his own, “If that’s what you have to tell yourself, _babe_.” He says, quoting back Thomas’s words from before but tacking on the pet name just to be an asshole.

It has the desired effect, and when Thomas laughs, Alexander can only squeeze his arm a little tighter around Thomas’s as he tries not to be too pleased with himself. 

It doesn’t work, obviously, and Alex doesn’t bother hiding the comfortable, genuine smile that graces his lips the rest of the walk to the White House. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendly reminder: if u don't tell me otherwise I will assume this was a piece of trash. :)
> 
> (and feel free to drop by my Tumblr: writtenrevolution)


	15. drunk actions are sober thoughts 2.0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last post of 2019!!! It is my sincere wish that 2020 blesses you all with the love, respect, and success you need. I hope that the year is filled with blessings and happiness and whatever other things you crave. Happy New Year, my friends. Another one down, many more to go. 
> 
> A shoutout to tinywhim for talking Jamilton with me and sending me pictures of Daveed. You keep me inspired and I adore you. 
> 
> Without further ado,  
(also I didn't proofread this, haha yikes sorry)

Angelica finally catches him on Thursday. 

He’s in Thomas’s office, laying down on the small couch and flipping through some random book he had stolen from the man’s couch. Thomas is behind his desk, gloved fingers typing fast on his laptop and occasionally humming to himself. Everytime he does, Alexander has to hide his smile behind the book. If it were anyone else, Alexander might find it annoying. But it’s not just anyone, it’s Thomas, which means he finds it ridiculously endearing. 

It’s as he flips through the book, some condensed piling of John Locke’s essays, that he hears the sound of heels in the hallway. At first he doesn’t think anything of it, but a moment later - as the heels become even closer - that Alexander sits up, the book falling to the side of the couch. 

He recognizes that sound. The time between heel clicks is too long, the sound too confident, and he knows who it is even before he rounds the corner into Thomas’s office. 

Alexander looks up as Angelica strolls into the office and winces at the look on her face. Her eyebrows are furrowed, eyes narrowed, and her lips are turned down in the corners. 

“Miss. Schuyler,” Thomas says, voice surprised and eyes wide, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m actually here for Alexander.” Her words are even, measured. 

Alex feels Thomas’s eyes on him as rises from the couch, picking up the book and sitting it on the edge of the cushion. 

“Angelica,” Alexander says, “What do you need?”

“You're leaving early so we can have dinner.” She replies, and her words leave no room for argument, “I already told Washington, and he gave me his approval.”

Alexander offers her a nod, turning his attention back to Thomas for a moment. 

The man is looking between the two of them, confusion evident in the narrowness of his eyes and the tilt of his head. Thomas’s fingers are strumming along the length of his desk, and if Alexander didn’t know any better, he’d say Thomas was nervous. 

He smiles at Thomas, and is pleased to see it returned his way in full. 

“Can we reschedule this? Apparently duty calls.”

“Yeah, of course.” Thomas tells him, “Have a good dinner. I'll see you at the Gala tomorrow? ”

“Thank you, and yes. I'll see you then.” He says, waiting a second to let his eyes linger on the curve of Thomas’s lips. 

Angelica clears her throat and Alex spins on his heels, following Angelica out the door without a glance backwards. 

They walk to the restaurant in silence. 

They enter the restaurant in silence. 

They sit in silence. 

Alexander is sitting across from Angelica, keeping his gaze focused on his menu as neither of them say anything. Eventually he closes his menu and looks up, meeting her stare. 

They place their orders quietly, neither of them looking away from the other, but neither of them saying anything either. 

The silence is stifling. Never before has Alexander been uncomfortable in the presence of Angelica Schuyler. Intimated yes, but uncomfortable? This was a first. He looks from her steel gaze to the hoop earrings hanging beside her face before he finally has the courage to look back into her dark grey eyes. 

“So,” Angelica says after what has probably been a good five minutes. “You and Thomas seemed close Saturday.”

“Angelica, please. Can we not-”

“I’m not here to yell at you, or tell you that you’re being an idiot. I think we both already know that what you’re doing is stupid, but I wanted to talk to you because I love you. I care about you and I care about your feelings and I don’t want to see you get hurt again. You are an amazing guy, Alexander, and I want you to be happy.”

“Ang, I love you but you’re being dramatic. I don’t understand why it’s even a big deal." Alex’s voice is soft, “I’m a grown man, I don’t need you to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with.”

“I’m not telling you who you can be friends with, Alexander, but I need you to realize that you and Thomas are not just friends.”

He fixes his gaze on her’s, holding steadfast, “Nothing romantic has happened between us.”

Her laugh makes him startle, back sitting ramrod straight in his chair. She laughs for a moment, until she notices Alex isn’t laughing with her. Almost in an instant the smile from her face disappears and her eyes narrow. They run over Alex’s face as she - no doubt - tries to find a sign that he’s not as clueless as he seems. 

Then, when she must realize he has no idea why she’s amused, she says, “Jesus, how drunk were you? The two of you were  _ slow _ dancing to a rap song. You were literally cuddling with him. He had his hand on your thigh like you were  _ dating _ . You had your head on his chest, Alexander. You had your head on his Goddamn chest!”

“Angelica, I was drunk. You of all people should know that I’m affectionate when I’m drunk. But, fuck, it doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.”

Her lips are pressed into a thin, unamused line and her eyebrow is arched sharp enough to kill a man. “Thomas wasn’t drunk.”

“And?”

Her sigh is bewildered, like she can’t honestly believe Alexander is questioning her on this. When she speaks again, her face is less judgmental. “Are you so blind that you can’t see the way he looks at you?”

Alexander’s words are as sharp as ever when he responds, “And how’s he look at me?”

“The same way Eliza did.”

And he doesn’t know what to say in response to that. There are words, fighting their way up his throat trying to crawl across his tongue and into the world, but they are stuck there. There is nothing he can say to respond to that. 

Because he remembers how Eliza used to look at him. 

It was the same way he used to look at her. 

He remembers the way her grey eyes would shine, nothing but peace and comfort and happiness there. It was all consuming, her love covering him completely - seeping into every inch of him. She had looked at him like he hung the moon, like she could never imagine a life without him, like she was lucky to have found him. She had looked at him with adoration, with hope, and with love. 

Alexander doesn’t want to believe Angelica. He doesn’t want to look into her words and make everything more messy than it already is, but Alexander knows the look she’s talking about. It’s the look Thomas directed at him the night in the parking lot after work. It’s the look Thomas had given him as he tucked Alexander into bed on Saturday. It's the look he catches on Thomas’s face when the other man thinks he isn’t looking. 

He knows the look she’s talking about, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that knowledge. 

“Alexander, I get it. He’s handsome and he’s charming, and things seem like they’re different now. You think he’s different now, but he’s the same Thomas Jefferson that you couldn’t stand two months ago.”

“He’s more than I thought he was, Ang.”

Angelica’s gaze is borderline pity and he hates it. He hates that she can see right through him and his words. He hates that she - like Eliza and Peggy too - have always known him better than he knows himself. 

“He is the same man you knew before. He might seem different and he might act different, but under it all he is still the same guy. He is still capable of what he’s done before; he still has his vices and his secrets.”

“Ang-”

“You hated him, Alexander. You hated him so much. What could have possibly changed all that in a month?”

And, for once, he doesn’t have an answer. 

Angelica must know this from the look on his face, because her frown grows just a little deeper at the edges. She doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t press the issue, but after a moment her hand reaches across the table. It’s laid soft on the white tablecloth, palm facing up, and Alexander relaxes in his seat. He takes his hand, placing it in her’s. She doesn’t say anything and Alexander doesn’t either, but when their food comes a minute later, Alexander knows that they’re okay again. 

After dinner, Alexander mopes around the house for a long time. He watches two hours with of Netflix, drains a glass of cheap white wine, and decides to call it an early night. He knows he needs to think about the whole Thomas-situation, but he can’t bare the thought yet. He needs time to decompress, to think for himself, and then he’ll loop back to her words. 

He’s in bed early for once, snuggled under the soft comforter and body loose. He’s on the verge of sleep, darkness closing in around his eyes, when he’s thrown out of the serenity by the sharp ringing of his phone. 

Alexander’s hand flings out, groping obsessively on the nightstand until he feels the cool of his phone. He pulls it towards him, looking at the screen with blurry eyes. When the name on the caller ID registers in his brain, Alexander can only blink. 

The time on his phone reads 1:00AM, so why the fuck is James Madison calling him?

He lets the call go to voicemail and then drops the phone on his bed, hoping that he can curl back up and find that dreamlike state again. It’s as soon as he closes his eyes that the phone blares again, the sound cutting through his head like a siren. Alex huffs in a deep breath, picking up the phone with far more force than necessary and swiping his finger across the screen. 

“What?” His voice is tired, and snappy, but he’s in no mood to deal with Madison’s shit tonight. If the man wants to call and antagonize him, he can do it during normal business hours. 

“Alexander, I hope I didn’t wake you.” Madison’s voice comes through the phone, along with a little static. 

He wants to snap back at him, tell him to fuck off, but the use of his first name stops him in his track. 

“You didn’t.” He lies, curious about what Madison could possibly want, “Is there a reason you’re calling?”

He can hear Madison’s rather long, exasperated, sigh. “I was wondering if you could do me a favour?”

What could he possibly want from Alexander? Especially at 1 o’clock in the Goddamn morning. 

“What is it?”

“Thomas called me from a bartender’s phone. He’s drunk, lost his phone, keys, wallet, and he’s down at the bar, Cicero. I think it’s pretty close to your apartment.”

“And?” Alexander replies. 

“He needs a ride, Alexander. I’m in Virginia or I’d get him, and I don’t know who else to call that’d be up at this hour. I know you’re not fond of me, but I also know you care about him. Is there anyway you can pick him up and let him crash at your place?”

Madison is right. Alexander is not fond of him, but he does care about Thomas. He likes Thomas, likes spending time with him, and if Alexander refused to get him and he somehow ended up hurt - or worse - he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. And as much as he wants to lie, to tell Madison that he doesn’t care about Thomas, they both know it wouldn’t be the truth. 

“Yeah, of course I’ll get him.” Alexander replies, silently dragging himself out of bed and into the living room. 

“Thank you Alexander. I really appreciate it.”

“No worries, James.” He says, accidentally using the man’s first name, “I’ll let you know once he’s back here.”

He hangs up soon after that, pulling on his jacket and grabbing his keys from the table by the front door. 

The bar is close, but Alexander doesn’t know what condition Thomas is in, so he opts to drive. It only takes him about five minutes before he’s pulling into the parking lot, and as he turns into a spot, his lights flash across an expensive, black, car. A car that looks a lot like Thomas’s. This must be the right place then. 

He opens the car door, climbing out and into the cool air that surrounds the city. The sky is dark, a shimmering black as the city lights up certain areas. Alex shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks to the door, pushing against it with his bicep and shouldering it open. 

He looks around, trying to find Thomas, but doesn’t see him. The bar is packed, filled to the brim with young people laughing and downing shots. There’s a few older gentlemen in the back, scotch in hand as they trade quiet whispers. He walks further inside, eyes trailing along the corners and the floor, until he spots him. 

There, on the far end of the bar, is Thomas. He’s facing away from Alexander, white jacket too vibrant as he leans over the bar. There’s a glass in front of him, along with a line of empty shot glasses, and Alex can only wince at the thought. 

He steps closer, sliding into the seat next to Thomas. 

“Rough night?” He says, voice even. 

Thomas visibly freezes in his seat. His back, once slouched, goes rigid. His glove flexes along the length of the glass and his jaw clenches. When Thomas looks over at him, Alexander can barely process the information in front of him. 

Thomas looks like shit. His hair is in disarray, as if he’d spent the night running his fingers through. His eyes are red rimmed, dull and blurred, and his clothes wrinkled. 

“Alexander?” Thomas’s voice is a slur, the name almost unrecognizable on his lips. “What are you doing here?”

“Madison called me. Said you might need a lift.”

“I lost my keys.”

“You can crash at my place for the night.”

Thomas smiles at this, swaying lightly on the stool, “Guess we’re finally having that sleepover?”

He looks so earnest, so genuine, that Alexander smothers his laugh. It’s becoming quite evident that Thomas has had his fair share of alcohol, and the last thing he wants to do is to tip the man from happy drunk to angry drunk. 

“Yeah man, guess we are.” Alexander agrees, “But you gotta get in my car first.”

“Wait-” Thomas says as he stands from the stool, swaying on his feet and reaching out onto the bar to steady himself. Alex reaches out too, his hand finding Thomas’s arm and keeping him level. 

“What?”

Thomas looks at him, confusion evident in the squint of his eyes, “What do you mean, what?”

Alex forces himself to take a breath, curving his lips in a way that feels normal. “You said wait, and then you didn’t follow it up with anything.”

“Am I sleepin’ on your couch?”

“Do you want to sleep on my couch?”

“Rather sleep in your bed,” Thomas replies, straightening his chin and looking past Alexander towards the door, “With you.”

On instinct, his hand squeezes a little too tight on Thomas’s arm and he releases it when he sees the man flinch. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Alexander lets Thomas loop his arm around his waist, acting like a guide as he walks them towards the door. Once the cool air hits their face, and Thomas blinks a few times around deep breaths, Alexander continues. 

“Like you said last time, I don’t want you waking up and forgetting the invitation. I’m not trying to get my ass kicked. Not by you, at least.”

Thomas scoffs, and then breaks out in a deep and raspy laugh that sounds too appealing to Alexander’s ears. It doesn’t help that the man’s arm is still around his waist, hand lingering just a little too far South to be completely unintentional. 

“Are my self preservation skills that amusing?”

“No, no,” Thomas chides, his voice still full of amusement, “But why kick your ass when there are so many different, more fun, things I could do to it.”

His brain stops for a second. 

Alexander knows there are different kinds of drunks. In fact, he’s mostly got them nailed down. 

Eliza is a Motherly Drunk. She takes care of everyone, she’s openly affection, and isn’t hesitant to tell someone how much she loves them. She’s also the one roping everyone into a cab at the end of the night. Lafayette is the Stripper Drunk. He dances on poles, likes to take his clothes off, and will grind on literally anyone within a five foot radius. John is a Happy Drunk. He laughs too much, sings too loud, and is too busy having a good time to worry about anything else. Hercules is a Clingy Drunk. He wants nothing more than to cuddle Eliza and let her coo over him. Angelica is an Angry Drunk. She becomes convinced the world is out to get her, she curses out anyone she can think of, and twitter harrases prominent politicians. Peggy tends to be the Weepy Hysterical Drunk which is pretty much what the name says. Then there is Alexander who classifies himself as a Hot Mess Drunk. He craves affection, cries over cute dogs, likes going dancing, and he doesn’t remember shit in the morning. 

And then there’s Thomas, who apparently fits into the one archetype not in their friend group: the Flirty Drunk. 

“Very cute, Thomas.” He says, letting the man lean on him - more than probably necessary - as they walk in the direction of Alexander’s car. Before Alexander has a chance to open the door and push Thomas inside, the man uses the arm around Alex’s waist to back him up against the door. 

It’s not intimidating, but intoxicating. 

“I’m being serious, you know.” Thomas says, sounding a little more put together but there’s still a slur to his words. His hand comes out and presses against Alexander’s cheek, the fabric warm to the touch. “Think of all we could do,  _ Schatz. _ ”

As much as Alexander would love to climb aboard that train, and finally find out if the gloves  _ do _ stay on during sex, there are more pressing issues at the moment. The number one being, getting Thomas into the car. And the second being, not taking anything he says personally. He knows the Flirty Drunk type, his first roommate in college had been the same way. They flirt, and they smile, and they charm, but - under all - its nothing personal. 

His roommate - Tench - had confessed his love for Alexander hundreds of times, all when drunk. At first it had startled him, because he had grown up with the belief that drunk words are sober thoughts, but after the eighteenth time, Alexander started to understand that that wasn’t always the case. 

So he doesn’t read into Thomas’s words, doesn’t push where Thomas pulls, and instead simply offers him a smile. If Thomas had honestly felt that way, if he were attracted to Alexander - which he wasn’t - then the man would have said something before. This wasn’t that. This wasn’t some drunk proclamation. Thomas was drunk, and sometimes drunk people have no idea what they’re talking about. 

Instead of saying something that he’ll regret, he bypasses the first part of Thomas’s words and focuses on the end.  _ Schatz,  _ that was the word Thomas had used last Saturday. The word he had muttered, so nice and gentle and sweet. That was the word Alexander couldn’t remember. 

“ _ Schatz,  _ what language is that?”

Thomas’s hand is still there, pressed to his cheek. 

“It’s German.”

Alex arches a brow in surprise. He didn’t know Thomas spoke German. “What’s it mean?”

The hand disappears from his face in an instant, and Thomas takes a step back. Alex watches as his hand comes up, rubbing against the back of his own neck while he looks anywhere but at Alex. 

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He replies, “I doubt that. You’ve called me it twice now.”

Thomas says nothing, and instead pulls open the passenger door to Alex’s car and climbs inside. It shuts softly behind him, the sound faint in the bustle of the city. 

Alex pulls out his phone, sending a quick messages to Madison. 

To Madison (1:32AM): He’s good. 

While he’s on his phone, he can’t resist the urge to text John. He checks on Thomas really quick, sees him staring out the windshield, before typing a text with lightning quick fingers. 

To John (1:33AM): You know German don’t you?

He walks around the corner and climbs inside the driver’s side, buckling his seatbelt. As he’s double checking to make sure Thomas has his on (he does), his phone vibrates in his back pocket. 

From John (1:34AM): i do, why what’s up?

Thomas’s head is against the window, his eyes closed, and Alex figures he isn’t desperate to be home right this moment. He might as well quench his thirst for knowledge. 

To John (1:34AM): Thomas keeps calling me something and he said it’s german. It’s pronounced like “shots” with more of a sh sound at the beginning. Any idea what it means?

His reply is immediate. 

From John (1:35AM): you said he called you that?

To John (1:35AM): Yeah, you know what it translates to?

From John (1:35AM): hold on, let me text eliza. 

Before Alexander can wonder why the fuck he’d be texting Eliza, the three little bubbles pop up again, showing that he’s typing, and when the new text message shows up, Alex doesn’t know what to think. 

From John (1:36AM): he called you sweetheart, alex. 

From John (1:36AM): is there anything you want to tell me,,, sweetheart?

If it had been a one time thing, Alexander would have dismissed the pet name immediately, for the same reason he is dismissing every other thing the man said tonight. But this wasn’t a one time thing. This wasn’t the first time Thomas had called him that. He closes his eyes, hands tight around the steering wheel as he tries his hardest to remember the first time. 

_ His hand brushed against Alexander’s bottom lip and Alex sucked in a deep breath to keep himself from doing something he would regret.  _

_ “Okay,” He relented after a moment, “But, for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you came tonight.” Alexander said, unable to let Thomas leave without repeating his previous words.  _

_ “Me too, Schatz. ” Thomas said.  _

Thomas was sober that night, and his words weren’t spoken with the soft teasing the man usually used when he called him pet names. The words seemed sincere, longing even, and Alexander doesn’t know what to make of that. He doesn’t know how to read into those words, let alone if he even wants to read into them. 

So he does what he normally does, what works well for him, and leaves John on read and ignores the thoughts in his head. Alexander takes a breath, then he puts the car in reverse and drives home. 

Getting Thomas into his apartment is intimidating for a multitude of reasons. The first being that Thomas is bigger than him. The man’s got at least half a foot on Alexander, and he’s built wider - with large, broad shoulders. The second being that Thomas is quite literally blasted. The walk outside seemed to have sobered him up a little, but it's evident that he’s still inebriated to some extent. Which only makes the fact that Thomas is taller than him even worse. 

He manages to get him out of the car without much effort. It seems as though, for the most part, Thomas can walk on his own. (Which Alexander is eternally grateful for.) He ushers him towards the front doors and when Thomas sways a little on his feet, Alexander’s hand is there resting on his bicep to keep him steady. Thomas looks down at Alexander’s hands, his expression mostly blank. At first, Alexander’s worried he’s upset him somehow, but before he can apologize or completely withdraw his hand, Thomas manages to grab it in his own. The man intertwines their fingers, Thomas’s gloved fingers cool between his own. 

Alexander opens the door for him, helping Thomas into the elevator and letting the doors shut behind them. Thomas is mostly standing on his own, his fingers interlocked with Alexander’s, and he’s leaning - only slightly - on the smaller man. There’s no room in the entirety of his body to be annoyed or angry, even if he was mostly asleep with Madison had called him. He’s never been one to really calculate or evaluate his emotions, but Alexander is pretty sure the only thing he’s really feeling at the moment is fondness. He’s fond of Thomas, and it’s cute to see him so blitzed out of his mind that he’s taken to actually holding Alexander’s hand. 

Alexander’s always been affectionate, even with the people he was strictly friends with, but this isn’t a situation he ever thought he’d be in. 

His ex-rival, Thomas Jefferson, drunk and holding his hand as they stood in the elevator of Alexander’s apartment. It was absurd, and ridiculous, but it was real. And it was happening right then. 

The elevator chimes and Alexander pulls Thomas off the elevator behind him. His apartment is the first one around the corner, and he’s thankful for it. He has to drop Thomas’s hand in order to unlock the door, and when he lets go of the man’s hand, Thomas makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and ends up draping himself along Alexander’s side. The sudden weight is a shock and he has to take a step back to keep the both of them upright. 

“Come on now, let’s get you inside.” Alexander murmurs, opening the door further and helping Thomas to the couch. 

The man drops down in a way that should not look nearly as graceful as it does and tips his head back against the couch. 

“Do you want some water or something?” 

“I don’t think I ever told you, but I like your apartment.” Thomas says, speaking as if Alexander hadn’t just asked him a question. 

He looks around, sees the blank colourless decorations that surround them, and shrugs, “Thanks. Do you want some water?”

Thomas looks back at him, and his smile is so genuinely bright and his eyes so clear, that Alexander temporarily forgets that he’s drunk. And then Thomas speaks. 

“That’d be nice. Do you have food? ‘m fucking starving.”

He winces, because he’s fairly sure the only thing in his cabinets is ramen and expired soup, “I’m not sure. I think I have ramen?”

Even drunk, it appears that Thomas still has standards. He raises an eyebrow, and it looks so similar to the mocking expression that Alexander had seen everyday when Thomas first started working at the White House, that he has to take a step back. 

Before he can brace himself for the insults he expects to be slung his way, Thomas deflates. “Ramen’s fine, I guess. I mean I did take you to Five Guys.”

“And I love Five Guys.”

“I mean me too,” Thomas says with a sigh, “But it’s not really a great place for a date.”

Alex feels the surprise on his own face before he even registers it himself. A date? Did Thomas consider that night a date?

“A business date, I mean.” Thomas adds before Alex can say anything in reply, “Where you talk about business, because we talked about business. You know, a business date.”

“Right,” Alexander says slowly, “Let me make you some ramen.”

“Can I come?”

In all honesty, he doesn’t feel great about leaving Thomas to explore the apartment by himself drunk, so it’d be better if the man tagged along. At least that way Alex could keep an eye on him. 

“Yeah, let’s go.”

He leads Thomas to the small kitchen, making him sit down on a stool at the bar as he boils some water or the stove. Once the water is boiling and he adds the broken up brick of noodles, he turns his attention back to Thomas. 

Thomas is sitting where Alex left him, chin in the palm of his hand and his eyes on Alexander. His expression is soft, fond even, and the curl of his lips makes Alex feel almost self conscious. 

He brushes a strand of his hair behind his ear and concentrates on stirring the noodles in the pan. 

“You’re so beautiful.”

_ Don’t read into it _ . 

Alexander looks up from the pan and into Thomas’s eyes. He allows the smile pressing at his lips to form, spreading into a closed lipped half grin. 

“Is that so?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Thomas says, “Not about this.”

_ He’s drunk and flirting.  _

He turns the stove off, dumping the noodles into a separate bowl. 

“Thank you, Thomas.”

He mixes in the dry packet, stirring it with a fork before walking over and placing it onto the bar in front of Thomas. 

“I think you’re perfect.” Thomas says, not looking at Alex as he reaches out to poke at the noodles with his fork. “Everything about you.”

_ Don’t fucking read into it, Alexander.  _

“That’s sweet of you to say.”

Thomas turns to him then, his eyes bright and his smile easy. He reaches out, slowly, brushing a strand of hair out of Alex’s face. His touch is like it always is - soft and gentle - and when his glove catches on the skin in front of his ear, Alex has to physically resist the urge to learn into it. 

“Your soulmate is a lucky person, darlin’.”

“So is yours.” Alexander replies on instinct, and he means it. Whoever was blessed enough to be Thomas’s soulmate - to be his one perfect half - was beyond lucky. They were lucky to be able to have Thomas in their life, to see his smile, and his softer side, and to feel his affection. Whoever Thomas’s soulmate was would never know how lucky they were. 

“Why don’t you eat a bit and then you can go to sleep?” Alex says, because he can’t find any other words.

Thomas finishes his ramen in relative silence - which Alexander is thankful for - and once he puts back two glasses of water, Alex feels comfortable enough letting him pass out for the night, content that he’s done what he can to reduce the wretched hangover Thomas will have in the morning. 

He looks at Thomas’s clothes, a rumbled grey and white suit with pants that cling to his thighs. “I think I have some of Lafayette’s clothes here still. Let me see if I can find them.”

Alex does find them, stuffed in the second drawer of his dresser, and he manages to corale Thomas into his bedroom to get changed. 

“The clothes are on the bed, they’re Laf’s so they should fit. I think you two are roughly the same size.” Alexander tells him, gesturing to the clothes, “I’ll leave you to get-”

Before he can finish excusing himself, Thomas’s jacket is on the floor and he’s halfway through with unbuttoning his shirt. Alexander sees the dark grey skin that rests under his white shirt, and his eyes widen. He had known Thomas was ripped, had even felt the firm muscles beneath his clothes, but seeing it was something different entirely. 

He averts his eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of control, and he hears Thomas snort. 

“It’s cute,” Thomas says with a shit-eating grin, “That you’re looking away.”

Alexander rolls his eyes, still not looking at Thomas, and grits his teeth, “I’m trying not to make you uncomfortable.”

“I promise I’m not. Will you help me with this? My arms aren’t working right.”

He sucks in a deep breath and looks back. Thankfully, Thomas has already changed into the sweatpants but the shirt is half on and his arm is twisted at an unnatural angle. He’s looking at Alexander with a petulant expression, his bottom lip sticking out just a little too far, and Alex is glad to know that - apparently - they both pout when they’re drunk. 

He steps forward, reaching out to try and help Thomas get his arm in the sleeve. His hand brushes against Thomas’s skin, which is warm to the touch, and he feels a shiver run down his back. Once the man’s arm is finally in the right hole, Alexander grabs at the hem of the shirt, pulling it down to cover the rest of him. His hands graze the man’s abs (built like a fucking greek God) and he purposely does not comment on it. 

“Okay, get in bed.”

Thomas obeys, thankfully, and climbs underneath Alexander’s comforter. His gaze doesn’t leave Alex, though, and once he’s tucked underneath the blanket, he pats the side of the bed next to him. 

“You can stay here with me,  _ Schatz _ .” Thomas murmurs, voice soft, “I feel bad ‘bout kicking you out of your bed.”

Alexander weighs his options. On one hand, getting into bed with Thomas Jefferson spells disaster for everyone involved. He’s drunk and flirty and Alexander is worried that laying down with him on a horizontal surface might only double that. And he would like to keep Thomas’s eventual embarrassment when he sobers up to a minimum. 

On the other hand, laying down with him might get the guy to shut the fuck up for five seconds. 

In the end, the need for quiet and sleep wins over his rational thought. But that doesn’t mean he’s giving up without a fight.

“On one condition. You have to tell me why you decided to get hammered at a bar, by yourself.”

Thomas looks hesitant, his eyes going from Alex to the bed and then back to Alex. Eventually, he must decide because he nods once and pats the bed again. 

Alexander lays down beside him, not bothering to get underneath the comforter and rolls onto his side so he’s facing Thomas. What he’s not expecting is for Thomas’s hand to find his hair, running softly through a few strands. Alexander looks back at him with wide eyes, suddenly realizing just how little space there is between them. Thomas is mere inches in front of him, looking cute as his hair falls like a halo on the white pillow case. 

And, worst of all, he’s looking at Alexander with that same look. The one Angelica told him about. 

“‘m sorry if my answer is vague, but there are some secrets I just can’t tell you.”

“Tell me what you can. Explain it the best way you can.” Alexander’s voice is quiet, encouraging. 

“I finally got the courage to do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, and I was about to do it, but things kind of went to shit before I even got the chance.”

Alexander - damn him - leans into Thomas’s touch. He’s curious, trying to remember if Thomas might have previously mentioned something that might be what he’s currently talking about. 

“Well how’d it go to shit?”

Thomas sighs wistfully, “Let’s just say, I thought things were a certain way, but they weren’t. I thought this- this person and I were on the same page, but we’re not.”

“So you asked this person and they didn’t agree with you?”

“Well, not quite. I wanted to ask them, but then I realized we weren’t on the same page, so I didn’t.”

He wonders, briefly, if Thomas is talking about Martha. The idea makes him red hot with jealousy, and when he responds, he has to try extra hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

“How do you know, for sure though, if you didn’t ask. Maybe you are on the same page.”

Thomas’s smile is bittersweet, almost forlorn, when he speaks again, “I keep thinking that. They say things, just little comments that I can’t help but read into, but then its pushed aside and I’m left confused as ever.”

“But you’re never really going to know, are you?” Alexander tells him, feels the way Thomas’s hand is moving non stop in his hair. It’s nice. He could fall asleep like this. “If you really want an answer, you have to ask a question.”

If Alexander’s advice is the reason Martha and Thomas get together, he thinks he might literally have to resign from his job. And then probably jump into the Hudson too. 

“And what if the question ruins everything?” Thomas’s voice is a whisper, his eyes trailing over Alexander’s face like it holds the answer to every question he’s ever had. It’s Eliza’s look. He’s not used to seeing it on anyone else’s face but her’s. 

And that’s a point Alexander can understand, because he’s been there. He is there. If he looks into things between him and Thomas, if he looks into his own feelings on the matter, he might ruin whatever semblance of friendship they’ve found. 

“I know it’s scary and it seems like doing nothing is better, but trust me when I tell you this. You are never going to be satisfied with not knowing. The question will follow you around, it will haunt you, and it won’t go away. Because the whole time you’ll be wondering ‘what if I asked?’, ‘what if the answer had been the one I wanted?’. It’s hard and you can take as much time as you need, but eventually everything comes to light. And eventually you’re going to have to ask.”

It's the words he, himself, needed to hear. And even if they’re from his own brain Alexander knows he has to listen to them too. He can’t keep this thing going between him and Thomas without knowing. Angelica might not have been completely right, but she wasn’t completely wrong either. 

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, there are feelings involved. He doesn’t know what kind, doesn’t want to look into them right now, but he knows they are there. 

So it’s not the time to ask Thomas. It’s not the time to press him on the soft looks, and the touching, and the German pet names. Thomas is drunk and they’re both tired and Alexander needs a real answer, not a drunken one. 

He focuses on the way Thomas’s hand curves around his chin, fingers running light against the skin there. 

Alex sucks in a deep breath, “Let’s get some sleep, we can talk about this tomorrow.”

Thomas’s hand grazes his face again, his eyes refusing to leave Alexander’s. He brushes a few curls away from Alex’s eyes, and then tucks the hair behind his ear. 

“Okay.”

Alex offers him a smile, curling into the pillow under his head. “Goodnight Thomas.”

He closes his eyes, feels Thomas’s heavy sigh in the dark - wistful and bittersweet, as his hand slowly moves away. And then, “Goodnight,  _ Schatz _ .”

Alex blinks one eye open, sees Thomas spralwed out over the pillow beside him, and smiles. 

Yeah, he thinks, a pretty good night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:
> 
> \- bet you didn't think Angelica was going to be the one to make Alex realize it, did you?  
\- its not all happy and rainbows from here on out, im afraid. we got pining to do, baby!  
\- say hi on my Tumblr: writtenrevolution  
\- standard endnote: if you don't tell me otherwise, I will assume this is the worst thing you've ever read and that you hated it.


	16. the annual senate gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said expect an update by Thursday, and it's Tuesday!! Im going to applaud myself because I honestly didn't think I would ever get this chapter out. It was a difficult one to write, because I want everything to be perfect for y'all. 
> 
> Anyway, onward!

It’s sometime later when Alexander blinks his eyes open. His body temperature is through the roof and he’s almost too hot. There’s a heavy weight on his chest and it’s making breathing a little more difficult It’s nice though, comfortable and somehow soothing. It takes his eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness surrounding him, and then he has to blink a few times to make sure what he’s seeing is actually what’s happening. 

The first thing he sees is curls. He reaches out, slowly, and brushes them away from the face that they frame. The man curled up against him makes a low noise in the back of his throat, nuzzling against Alexander’s chest, and that’s when he remembers that its not some random hookup from the bar. 

He pushes his hand a little further, just to get a better glimpse in the low light. That’s when the memory of last night solidifies in his head. Alexander wasn’t drunk. He didn’t bring home some guy from the bar. The guy curled up next to him is not some meaningless one night stand. It’s not just anybody. 

It’s Thomas.

His heart stutters when he realizes that not only is he in bed with Thomas, but the man is cuddling against him. 

Alexander can see the clock from his position and it reads just after 4am. Which probably means Thomas is still a little drunk. Alex knows he should let him be, let him sleep off whatever alcohol is still left pumping through his bloodsteam, but the position is rather uncomfortable. 

He nudges Thomas softly with his hand and he feels the way the man seems to move even closer to him at the touch.

“Thomas,”

Alex hears a groan, “Shut up,”

“Can you like move for a second?” His voice is a whisper into the night. There is a little light from the moon streaming through his open curtains, and it casts an almost divine shadow around Thomas’s sleeping form. 

“‘m comfortable.” Thomas drawls, and his southern accent is even more noticeable. 

He lets out a sigh, “You can get comfortable again, just let me move.”

Thomas backs off a little and Alexander blearily rolls onto his side. It’s not a second after he turns, that Alex feels Thomas’s body curve along his back. He is like an inferno, heat seeping from his body and into Alexander’s. 

Then, Thomas’s hand comes out to wrap around Alex’s waist. He pulls, Alex being forced further back into Thomas’s chest. The man’s breath is hot on Alex’s neck, and he should push him away. He should move to the couch. He should stop letting himself indulge in this- 

“Go back to sleep, Alexander.”

He needs to think. He needs to figure out what exactly his feelings for Thomas are, what they mean. He needs to think about his soulmate and about how long its been since he saw a new colour. Alex needs to think about Thomas’s soulmate, about what they’d think of this situation, and he needs to think of Martha. 

But that doesn’t mean he needs to do that right now. 

Alexander relaxes into the bed, reaches down to his waist and intertwines his fingers with Thomas’s. He hears the quiet breath that escapes Thomas’s mouth, and then he closes his eyes and lets sleep find him once more. 

The next time he is pulled from sleep, it is - once again - because of the insistent ringing of his phone. Before he even has a chance to reach out and grab it, he feels Thomas move behind him and stretch over to the nightstand. When he moves back, he drops the phone onto the bed beside Alex. It’s still ringing, his ridiculous ringtone loud and annoying. 

He squints at the phone and it feels like deja vu. The clock reads 1 o’clock - this time in the afternoon - and James Madison is calling him. 

Thomas resumes his position immeadiatly, hand coming to rest around Alexander’s waist - and it feels so horrifically domestic. When the reality of the situation could not be further from the truth. There is nothing domestic about it. Alexander and Thomas are simply friends spooning in bed. It’s new for them, but it's not new to Alexander. He’s done this countless times with friends in the past. He’s always been opening affectionate with his friends, not afraid to lean into touches or take comfort when he needed it. 

This should be no different. But it somehow feels a hell of a lot different. 

Alexander, of course, doesn’t look into it. He simply swipes his finger across the screen and holds the phone up to his ear. 

“Yeah?”

“Alexander, hello. Is Thomas still with you?”

Alex looks over his shoulder the best he can given the position, sees Thomas laying there with his eyes closed, curls falling over the pillow, and answers, “Yeah he’s here.”

Madison’s voice is filled with relief, “Thank God, could you put him on please?”

He nudges the man with his elbow. Thomas, however, doesn’t seem to want to be disturbed. He makes an annoyed sound and tightens his grip. 

“I’m sleepin’.” Thomas murmurs without opening his eyes. 

Alexander can’t help but roll his eyes. Who would have thought Thomas wasn’t a morning person? “It’s Madison.”

“Okay? Tell him I’m asleep.” 

He holds the phone back up to his ear and sighs, “Thomas says he’s sleeping.”

“Tell him if he doesn’t get on the phone this minute, I’ll tell Martha what really happened to her Chanel bag.”

The mention of Martha makes the situation one million times more uncomfortable for Alexander, but he repeats the words nonetheless. 

As soon as they leave his mouth, Thomas peeks one eye open. He winces - no doubt as the light assaults his eyes, but uses the hand wrapped around Alex’s waist to grab the phone from his grip. Alex then rolls back onto his back, making the position a little more comfortable, but also completely minimizing the distance between them. Like this, Thomas is practically on top of him. But, as his eyes blink bleary at Alexander and he raises the phone to his ear, neither of them bother to move. 

“What do you want?” Thomas’s voice is hoarse, no doubt from being pulled from his sleep, and Alexander thinks he likes the sound. 

He can’t make out Madison’s words on the other end, only the sound of his voice. 

Thomas sighs again, “Technically yes, but not in the way you think.” 

More of Madison’s words, and Alex watches the way Thomas eyes find his. He looks amused, even with the hangover. His eyes are soft, as they always are. 

“Yeah but you don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

Thomas listens silently for a few more seconds before he sighs dramatically, “I suppose that’s good news, then. Thank you for everything, James. I owe you one, but if you tell Martha, I’m ending our friendship.”

Madison replies with something Alexander can’t hear, and then Thomas laughs. It’s loud and bright and then he winces like the laugh itself caused him pain- and considering how much he must have drank, Alex assumes it did. 

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you later.” Thomas says eventually, hanging up and dropping the phone beside Alexander. And then he lays back down next to Alexander and blinks softly at him. 

Alexander watches him, not knowing what the fuck he’s supposed to say in this situation. So, he sates his curiosity. 

“So, uh, what happened to Martha’s bag?”

He sees the way Thomas ducks his head back into the pillow, his eyes open and looking back at Alexander. “Madison had to throw it away.”

He raises a brow, “Now why would he do that?”

Thomas squints, his eyes darting away from Alexander to the far side of the room, “It’s a long story.”

Alexander’s lips twitch up at that. A long story? It’s most definitely codeword for an embarrassing story, and as much as he doesn’t want to hear exactly how close Thomas is to Martha, he’s dying to know what happened. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t have plans for a couple of hours.”

“Let’s just say I had too much to drink,” Thomas begins, “And my stomach couldn’t handle it.”

His eyes widen when he realizes what Thomas is insinuated. Alexander’s laugh surprises him, and he almost chokes on the forcefulness of it, “You threw up in her purse? Oh my God, and you didn’t even tell her? That’s stone cold, Thomas Jefferson.”

“I think the obvious assumption to draw from my past ten years is that I really should stop drinking.” Thomas replies with a half smile on the tilt of his lips. It’s sleepy and tired, but it’s cute. 

“So, what’d Madison want?”

Thomas breaths in a deep breath, “Bartender called him. They found all my stuff and they’re holding it for me at the bar.”

Alexander gives him a smile, “That’s good, that they found it, I mean.”

He hears the subsequent long exhale of breath, “I suppose I should go pick it up.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” Thomas says, “I already feel bad enough about invading your house.”

“Please, you took care of me when I was drunk. It’s literally the least I could do. And besides, we’re friends. This is the kind of shit friends do for each other.”

Thomas’s smile is genuine, like he’s actually touched by Alexander’s words. “Thank you, though, really. I had a rough night, but you made it better.”

Alexander leans further back into the pillow, and if it makes him brush against Thomas even more, well no one has to know it was intentional, “Well we both have enough blackmail material now.”

He feels more than hears Thomas’s inhale of breath, “Please don’t tell me I did anything too stupid.” 

Alex arches a brow, “You told me all your dark secrets.” 

Thomas’s face freezes, and he honestly looks terrified. He glances from Alex to the bed - where they’re literally almost on top of each other - and when he looks back up, his eyes are wide. 

He looks so panicked that Alex nudges him with his elbow, “Chill out, your secrets remain secret for now. And don’t worry, you were a charming drunk. It was very cute.” 

As much as Alex wants to know what secrets he’s so worried about getting out, he doesn’t push. If it didn’t involve him, it was none of his business. And Alexander knows if Thomas knew something about Alexander that he himself didn’t know, he would have told him by now. Thomas was above keeping shit like that to himself. 

“Charming?” Thomas asks after a moment, his voice questioning. 

“Very. Anyone ever tell you that you flirt a lot when you’re drunk? I’m flattered, of course, but I was definitely not expecting so many compliments.” 

“Shut up,” Thomas says with a small laugh that makes Alex’s heart hurt, “I’m friendly when I’m drunk.” 

“If that’s the way you want to phrase it.” 

Thomas is quiet for a long moment, his eyes running over Alex’s face. He looks collected, maybe a little tired, but still somehow as attractive as ever. Damn Thomas and his good genes. 

“I guess I should go get my stuff.” 

Alex smiles. “You probably should.” 

He lets Thomas roll out of the bed, and watches as he stretches as soon as his feet hit the ground. He hears the bones in Thomas’s back crack, and he winces in sympathy for the man’s spine. 

“I’ll see you tonight?” Alexander asks, watching the way Thomas looks over his shoulder at him. On instinct he sinks deeper into the bed, stretching just a little. He feels a particular flush of interest when he notices Thomas’s gaze drop to the place where Alex’s shirt has risen just a little, exposing the soft trail of hair that leads from his navel into his pants. 

Thomas’s face looks calculating, maybe even a little jealous, and Alex is two seconds away from inviting him back into bed when Thomas responds. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” 

Alex doesn’t bother fighting the natural curve of his lips. “I can’t wait to see whatever horrendous thing you’re wearing.” 

“Fuck you.” Thomas says as he leaves, flipping Alexander the bird for added measure as he leaves the room. 

“Fuck you too!” He hollers after him, hiding his laughter in the pillow next to him. It smells like Thomas’s cologne and shampoo, and it’s yet another indulgence Alex shouldn’t allow. 

But he’s already in this deep, so it’s not like things could get any worse. 

Once he hears the door to his apartment close, Alexander scrunches his eyes closed and releases the deep breath from inside his lungs. 

For the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s in completely over his head. It’s not very often when Alex feels like he has bit of more than he can chew, but this situation continues to prove to be more than he expected. When he first visited Thomas office, only months ago, begging for a compromise, he never expected that they’d end up here. He’d never expected that Thomas was more than exactly what Alex thought he was. He never thought he’d be good friends with him, or that he’d have these unknown feelings towards him, or that he’d be actively looking forward to seeing him again. 

It’s new and exciting, but there’s so much lingering in the background that’s making it hard for Alex to sit back and truly enjoy it. He’s worried, once again, that one misstep is going to ruin the whole thing. It’s like he’s going 120 miles an hour down a dark road, and he has no idea what to expect. He doesn’t know where the lines are, where the curves are, or where he’s going. 

It’s exhilarating but frightening, and it feels like he’s balances on the edge of the unknown. One step forward and he falls, but one step back and they end up exactly where they were before. 

There’s nowhere to go and he doesn’t know what to do. 

But Alexander knows that he has to play this as the mature adult he is. There is really only one option, and it’s talking to Thomas. Whether the man knows it or not, they’re both in uncharted territory and Alexander doesn’t want to explore it alone. And he has the feeling that Thomas is going to understand what’s going on in his head, because he thinks he might not be completely alone in whatever he’s feeling. 

This crush, or whatever it is, might just be requited. 

So rejection or rejoice, Alexander is going to talk to him. He has no reason to believe that Thomas isn’t just as interested as he is. So, unless he gets a sign implying otherwise, he has to talk to him, and tonight is the perfect time to do it. Hell or high water, Alexander is going to confront whatever the fuck he’s feeling and he’s going to talk to Thomas about it.

He lounges around working on random projects for the Treasury Department for the next couple of hours, until four o’clock hits and Lafayette’s texts start coming. They are insistent, every minute on the spot, and his phone vibrates until it falls off the arm of the couch. 

From Lafayette (4:00 PM): When are you coming over?

From Lafayette (4:01 PM): Darling, text me back. 

From Lafayette (4:02 PM): What are you doing?

From Lafayette (4:03 PM): Are we still going tonight?

From Lafayette (4:04 PM): If you chicken out on me, I will never let you live this down. 

From Lafayette (4:05 PM): Come over before so we can get ready together. 

From Lafayette (4:06 PM): Alexander :(

It’s after the sixth text message, the one that knocks his phone from the couch, that Alexander finally manages to pull his attention away from his laptop. He scrolls through the messages, eyes rolling on account of Lafayette’s dramatics, and types out a response. 

To Lafayette (4:07 PM): I’m not chickening out, but the Gala doesn’t start until 7?

It’s as soon as his phone is facedown on the cushion next to him, that it vibrates again. 

From Lafayette (4:07 PM): Some of us need extra primping. 

From Lafayette (4:07 PM): And I’m not talking about me. 

He scoffs out loud, fingers typing too quick on the screen in an effort to save his pride. 

To Lafayette (4:08 PM): Fuck you very much.

To Lafayette (4:08 PM): I’ll be at yours around 5.

Getting ready with Lafayette mostly consists of Alexander sitting on the man’s bed as Lafayette runs around the room, strewing clothes across every available surface as he tries to find something to wear. Alex tries to help, truly, but when Lafayette turns those eyes on him and says, “Which colour goes best together?” He doesn’t really have a reply, considering he can’t fucking see them. 

So he sits on the bed and scrolls through twitter, looking for an idiot politician to start a debate with. Twitter turns up empty, however, and he’s left bored out of his mind. 

“Thomas stayed at my house last night.” Alexander says, dropping the words like they mean nothing. 

Lafayette stops in his tracks and his gaze finds Alexander’s. “What?”

He resituates himself on the bed and looks at the grey comforter spread across it, “He got drunk and I had to pick him up.”

“So, are we going to finally talk about this?”

Alexander sighs so deeply that he feels it in his bones, “I don’t know, Laf. I don’t even know what’s going on. I don’t know how I feel, let alone what I want.”

His friend comes to sit down on the bed next to him. The mattress shifts a little and Alex finally looks back up at Lafayette. 

“Maybe Thomas doesn’t know either. That’s usually why you communicate with someone, so you can find out what you both want.”

It’s good advice, the same advice that Alex gave himself and Thomas last night, and he knows he has to take it. Lafayette’s words only steel his resolve to speak to Thomas tonight, and he’s going to do it. 

Or atleast, he tells himself that right up until they get out of the car and start making their way towards the Museum that houses the Gala. 

He stops, his feet refusing to take another step, and he shoots a panicked look in Lafayette’s direction. 

Lafayette’s hand comes to rest against his shoulder, “Relax, I know Thomas, and I can’t believe he won’t hear you out.”

And that’s all Alexander needs. He doesn’t need promises or pity, he just needs Thomas to listen. 

“I know.”

“Well then,” Lafayette says, offering Alexander his arm. “Are you ready?” 

He hesitates for a second, rethinking his decision to even bother coming to this thing in the first place. The amount of people that are going to be here that he can actually stand is unsurprisingly low, and it seems like too much effort to even bother with. But Thomas is here, Lafayette is here, and Angelica will most likely be as well. 

He links his arm through Lafayette’s and follows him inside. 

The inside of the museum looks beautiful. It’s decked out in decorations for a theme that Alexander doesn’t remember, and there are soft grey lights streaming from above them. To the side of the room there are circular tables topped with white pressed tablecloths and bouquets of roses. The middle of the room is left wide open, no doubt to encourage mingling or dancing amongst attendees, and to the fair left is a bar. 

Alexander clings to Lafayette’s arm as he gets glimpses of familiar faces. He sees more than a few Senators, a few members of Washington’s staff, and several lobbyists as well. But he doesn’t see the man he’s trying not to too obviously search for. 

“I must go say hello to His Excellency.” Lafayette says, his accent a little deeper amongst the noise of the room, “Feel free to grab a table, and I will find you.”

“You know it’s rude to ditch your date.”

Lafayette turns to him, his hand brushing against Alexander’s face as he coos, “Awe,  _ mon ami, _ we both know if you had it your way, I wouldn’t be your date. Now hush, I have people to see and so do you.”

Lafayette’s head tilts a little, nodding in the direction of the tables. Alex follows the gesture, and his eyes fall upon a familiar figure. He’s turned away from them, but Alexander recognizes him immediately. Whether it's from the sharp print of his white and grey floral suit, the tilt of his broad shoulders, or the thick curls that fall around his head, he doesn’t know. But, as he looks in the direction, he knows it's Thomas. 

Relief and anxiety flood through him at the sight and he barely spares Lafayette another glance. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll find a table.”

He can hear the short laugh that leaves Lafayette’s mouth before they move apart. Lafayette intent on finding Washington, and Alex intent on finally talking to Thomas. 

He sucks in a deep breath, talking himself up in his head, and then he makes quick steps in the direction of Thomas. 

Thomas turns around before Alexander reaches him, and his eyes widen a little when they catch a glimpse of him. He can physically feel the way Thomas’s eyes run up the length of his body before they stop at his face. It sends another wave of something through him, and gives him a little hope that he might have been right. 

“Thomas, hey.” Alexander says, as he stops short of the other man, trying to hide the way his words sound breathless. 

“Alexander,” Thomas responds, and he takes half a step towards Alex. “You look good.”

His smile deepens on instinct. “Thank you. You’re looking, uh, very on theme.”

Thomas’s gaze drops to his own suit, as if he had forgotten what he even decided to wear, and then he smiles. It seems a little forced, not completely reaching his eyes, and Alexander hates that he notices it so easily. 

“If that was supposed to be a compliment, you’re not doing a very good job at it.”

Alexander’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, and he watches as Thomas’s eyes follow the motion for a split second before they return to his eyes, “It was a compliment. Floral suit or not, you do look good.”

The tightness around Thomas’s eyes decreases a fraction and his smile seems more sincere when he replies, “Thank you, Alexander.”

“Listen, I was wondering if we could talk?” Alexander begins, pressing through the anxiety that begins to curl like rope in his chest, “I need to know-”

“There you are, Thomas!” A voice says from behind Alexander, and the words literally die in his throat. He blinks once, praying to whatever God exists that what he thinks is happening isn’t really happening.

And, before he can even finish his prayer, Martha walks beside him and draps her arm over Thomas’s shoulder. She looks as beautiful as always. Her hair is in loose curls around her face, and she’s wearing a dark grey dress that clings to her body in all the right places. Her smiles is straight, white, and perfect. She looks perfectly polished and put together in a way Alexander could never dream to be. 

“Don’t you know ditching your date at the bar is bad etiquette?” She says, but her voice is light and teasing, and Alex almost can’t breathe. 

He was wrong. He was so horribly, terribly wrong. 

He was right the first time. Thomas wasn’t interested in him. Thomas had Martha. They were close, which he knew, but this is even more intentional. Thomas had chosen to bring Martha as his date to the Gala, which means he obviously had to have some sort of feelings for her. Which means he doesn’t have feelings for Alexander. Which means that every look and word and touch Alexander had been reading into. He had been projecting his own feelings onto the situation, which means he was about five words away from making a fool out of himself. 

“Oh, Secretary Hamilton, I’m sorry to have interrupted.” Martha says when she notices him, and her words sound genuine. 

“Please, Senator, call me Alexander.”

“Then call me Martha.”

He smiles at her, trying his best to keep the blush from gracing his face. It works well enough until Thomas turns back to him, his arm fitted around Martha’s waist and says, “What was it you needed to talk about?”

“Nothing.” He says quickly, “I mean, it’s work. But it can wait. Enjoy your evening.”

“Wait, Alexander!” Martha calls after him before he can even take two steps away from the situation. When he turns back, she gestures to the table next to them. “Why don’t you sit with us? There’s plenty of room for you and your date.”

He looks away from Thomas’s eyes and smiles back at Martha, “Thank you, but I think Lafayette might have already found somewhere else to sit.”

And then, because God or whoever runs the universe literally hates him, the man in question materializes out of thin air beside Alexander. 

“I have not, actually. Martha, my darling, we would be more than happy to share a table with you two.” Lafayette says, his words coming through in a crisp coat of his accent and Alexander thinks he might actually flinch at the words that leave his friend’s mouth. 

The fucking traitor. 

“Excellent then.” Martha says, pulling out a chair and sitting down with an easy and delicate grace. 

Thomas sits down next to her, and before Alexander can move to claim a seat far away from the man, Lafayette drops into the seat two down from Thomas. Which leaves a too wide and too intimidating space between them. 

Lafayette’s gaze is knowing, and Thomas’s curious as he reluctantly sits down in between them. 

“So Martha,” Lafayette begins, breaking the silence between them, “Tell me about this new education initiative Virginia is pushing.”

He manages to make it twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of Senator Martha Wayles talking about her education initiative, twenty minutes of watching her laugh as Thomas chimes in with words of his own, twenty minutes of watching Thomas’s hand hang over the back of her chair. 

All of a sudden, it becomes too much. He’s jealous and watching them together - seeing the way they interact, the way they know each other so well - makes him feel completely out of his depth. 

Before he even knows what he’s doing, his chair makes a sharp noise as he pushes away from the table and clambers to his feet. “I need a drink.” Is the only thing he’s able to get out before he hightails it away from their table in the direction of the bar. 

The chair cushion is comfortable and smooth under his ass and he sinks into it, purposely keeping his gaze away from his previous table and his less than subtle exit. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender - a woman with a sleek blonde ponytail asks - and Alex gets a particular pain in his chest at her words. He wishes he were at Rocky’s, wishes it was Caleb taking his order, and that he was far away from everyone here. 

He rummages his brain for an alcohol that’s destined to get him tipsy fast, and decides on the only possible option, “Let’s go with tequila.”

The woman grabs a bottle of Don Julio off the shelf with a grin, pouring a shot in front of Alexander. “That kind of night, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

He tosses back the liquid with a wince, the taste sharp and bitter on his tongue. She refills it and he downs the second one, which is just as harsh. 

“Alexander,”

He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, Martha is sitting on the chair next to him. 

“Martha.”

“I came to get a refill,” She gestures to her empty champagne flute, “But now that I’ve caught you, I just wanted to say that I hope we can be friends. Thomas means a lot to me, and any friend of his is a friend of mine.”

He watches as the bartender fills Martha’s flute, before he stands from the chair. He drops a twenty into her tip jar and shoots Martha a smile he doesn’t feel. 

“Yeah, that would be nice.” He says, before immediately excusing himself outside.

It’s not subtle, nor pretty, but he figures if Thomas or Martha asks, he can always just say the alcohol hit him a little faster than he expected. He heads for the door in the back without a glance towards Lafayette or their table, and as soon as his hands hit the bar on the door, and the cool air hits his face, it feels like he can finally breathe a little more. 

He follows the wall in the dark, only a small light guiding the path, and then leans against the wall behind him. 

It’s nice and calming. That is, until, he sees the glow of a cigarette in the dark. There’s the exhale of smoke, and then James Madison steps into the lights. 

It scares the shit out of him, and Alex jumps, his back hitting the wall a little harder than comfortable. 

“Dude, what the fuck?” He hisses, his heart beating too fast in his chest, “You scared the shit out of me.”

Madison’s expression is unimpressed as he ashes the cigarette in his hand. “Sorry, that was unintentional.”

He moves forward, coming to stand a few feet away from Alex, with his back to the same wall. 

It’s then that Alexander’s brain finally catches up with his heartbeat, and he realizes James Madison is smoking a cigarette. 

“Aren’t you pushing for a ban of cigarettes in Congress?” Alex asks, and while his tone isn’t harsh, it isn’t exactly friendly either. 

He watches as Madison takes a long inhale from the half smoked cigarette handing between his fingers, “Yes, which is why I might as well smoke when I can.”

Alex deflates a little against the wall, because he can’t really argue with that logic. Well, he could, but it doesn’t seem like he really has the energy to do so. 

A moment later, Madison reaches into his suit pocket and his hand returns with a black and white pack of cigarettes. He holds them out to Alexander with a shrug, “You look like shit, and it seems like you could use one.”

Alexander takes one of the smooth sticks from the pack and holds it up to his lips in a motion that is somehow familiar and distant at the same time. He hasn’t smoked since college, and he can even remember the very last cigarette he had. 

It had been a shit week, finals week of course, and Burr had been up his ass about the article Alex had written for the student paper. It had been “too opinionated” and Alexander had been too done. He remembers sneaking onto the balcony with Lafayette and bulldozing his way through three cigarettes in the span of minutes as he cursed the very Earth that was trying so hard to make his life miserable. 

And then he met Eliza the next day and he hasn’t touched one since. 

Madison offers him a lighter and he flicks it with shaky hands. He feels unsteady again, and off center, in a way that seems to have become nearly a constant in the past few months. The smoke rolls across his tongue as he hands the lighter back, reaching up to hold the cigarette between his pointer and middle finger. 

It tastes like ash and smoke, the taste nostalgic and soothing. It is, yet another, indulgence he should shun away from. But it’s been a shitty day, so he’s excusing this one. 

“Thanks.” 

Madison shrugs and inhales again, “Yeah, and thanks for taking care of Thomas last night.”

“We both know I wasn’t going to leave him there.”

Madison looks over at him, his expression passive, “And we both know we’re not going to talk about why that is.”

Alexander takes another drag, holding the breath and letting the smoke rest in his lungs until it hurts, “Good to know we’re on the same page.”

“You could always just tell him.”

Alex shrugs, “Nothing to tell.”

He hears Madison’s scoff, “And here I thought we were above lying to each other.”

“I’m not lying. There really is nothing to tell.”  _ Not anymore.  _

He takes two quick and subsequent breaths from the dwindling cigarette on his lips. Alex spares a glance at Madison, sees the equally annoyed and frustrated look on his face. 

“If you really think that, then you’re a bigger idiot than I’ve given you credit for.”

Alexander’s cigarette gets tossed onto the concrete below him and he stubs the still lit cherry out with the toe of his dress shoe. “It’s been a nice chat, but I’ve got places to be. Thanks for the cigarette, Mads.”

And then he’s walking back into the dark, pulling the door to the museum open and stepping back inside. 

He finds Lafayette, thankfully, alone at their table. He’s scrolling through something on his phone, but he smiles when Alexander drops into the seat next to him. The smile lasts a second before it turns to confusion, “What took you so long?”

“Got caught up with a Senator.”

“Ah,” He says, his eyes looking past Alexander, “I see.”

He follows Lafayette’s gaze, craning his neck to look behind him. 

And that’s when he sees Thomas and Martha on the dance floor. He’s holding her close, gently pulling her across the floor in a dance. The music is swelling around them, a symphony that doesn’t compare to their beauty, and Alex deflates in his seat. 

He swallows around a painful lump in his throat, unable to take his eyes off Thomas. 

“Have they been dancing since I left?” He asks, even though he really doesn’t want to know. 

“Ever since Martha got back from the bar.” Comes Lafayette’s reply. 

Alex watches in misery as Thomas twirls Martha across the dancefloor. He’s smiling and she’s laughing, and they look good together. Her hand is around his neck, and his hand is hanging tight on her waist. They look like they’re having fun, like they were made to be together. And Alexander can only watch like a horrific car wreck that he can’t turn away from. 

“Good God,” Lafayette says from beside him, shooting a knowing look in Alex’s direction, “Why don’t you stop being a pussy and just ask him to dance?”

“Because he’s dancing with his  _ date _ ."

Lafayette’s eyes narrow on the couple that spins across the dancefloor. Then, in one quick move, he drains the rest of his wine and stands from the table. The glass hits the table with a clink, and he looks at Alexander with an expression full of annoyance and exasperation. 

“You owe me.”

And then, before Alexander can even process his words, Lafayette is walking towards the couple. Alex has to bite his lip to keep himself from yelling. Fuck, Lafayette wouldn’t tell Thomas, right?

Before he can panic, Lafayette turns his attention from Thomas to Martha and offers her his hand. He twirls her in his arms - away from Thomas - and shoots Alex a look over Martha’s shoulder. 

When Alex looks back at the dance floor, Thomas is standing by himself. His smile is fond, looking at the way Lafayette and Martha stumble through a laughter filled dance. He is handsome in the soft grey light, and Alexander wishes he could tell what colour it actually was. 

It’s the perfect opportunity. Martha is distracted, Thomas is alone, and Alexander has Lafayette - and Lafayette alone - to thank. Before he can talk himself out of it, he drains the remnants from Thomas’s abandoned glass and stands up. He takes two steps before he pauses. It’s a bad idea. It’s a terrible idea. 

But that’s never stopped him before. 

He keeps walking, cautiously approaching the place where Thomas stands on the dancefloor. 

Thomas’s eyes find him as Alex takes the last few steps towards him. 

“Did my date just steal yours?” Alexander asks, trying to hide his nerves in amusement. 

Thomas looks towards the floor, where Lafayette is leading Martha in a ridiculously fast dance, and smiles. “It would appear so.”

“Well,” Alexander breathes, “Maybe I could fill in?” 

He offers his hand to Thomas and sees the way Thomas’s smile grows softer as he looks down at it. Then his gloved hand is placed in Alexander’s and he uses the leverage to pull Alex close. The music playing above them is something soft and low, comfortable but somehow romantic. The lighting is low, casting shadows on Thomas’s face. It emphasises the curve of his nose and the fullness of eyelashes as Alex blinks up at him. 

Thomas’s hand comes to rest around his waist, just hovering on his hip, as his other hand tightens in Alex’s. It’s a touch that Alexander shouldn’t indulge in. Martha is here, just a few mere feet away from them, and Alex can’t do this to her. He can’t indulge in the fantasy in his head with her so close. 

But then Alex stumbles a little on his feet, and Thomas’s laugh is bright and beautiful, and he can’t help but lean into the firm chest in front of him. Thomas’s hand on his hip tightens just a little, probably an instinctual reaction to Alex moving closer, so he shouldn’t read into it. 

“You know, this dance is a lot better than our last one.” Thomas says finally, and he’s looking down at Alexander. 

He feels a small flush rise to his cheeks as he remembers that night at the bar, and him drunkenly clinging to Thomas as the man moved them across the bar floor. 

“Well, I am a lot less horribly drunk out of my mind.” Alexander replies easily, although the words feel wrong on his tongue. 

He doesn’t want to think back to that night, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to actually talk about it. Because that was the night that started the chain of events that lead him right to this unrequited whatever. That was one of the first times that he realized that not only was Thomas accountable and trustworthy, but it's the night that Alexander realized that he liked that about him. It was the first time he had ever called Alex sweetheart in German, and the first time that Alexander seriously considered that maybe, just maybe, his feelings for Thomas weren’t completely platonic. 

So he doesn’t want to think about that night. He doesn’t want to remember the way Thomas looked at him, or the way Thomas took care of him. Alex doesn’t want to remember wearing Thomas’s gloves - the same gloves tucked away in his dresser - or the way Thomas’s eyes had looked at him in the dark. 

Because there isn’t a point. 

Because there is more at stake here than what Alexander wants. For once, he’s not focusing solely on what he wants or what he feels, because Thomas means more to him than that. He’s not willing to throw away everything they’ve worked for, everything they’ve compromised to get here, just to satisfy a stupid crush. Because if he did that, Thomas would leave. He doesn’t want Alex. He has Martha, he likes Martha, and Alexander can respect that. 

Because whether or not he’s crushing on Thomas, it doesn’t matter. He’d rather have him as a friend than nothing at all. Alexander can’t go back to hurtful words hissed over the conference table and awkward silences in the elevator. He can’t go back to not having Thomas in his life. 

So, for once, he’s willing to hold his tongue. 

“You look like you’re thinking pretty hard.” The words leave Thomas’s lips and he sounds curious. 

Alexander glances back up from the man’s bowtie into the mixed greys of his eyes and lets loose a little chuckle. Not because it’s funny, but because he feels terribly pathetic. 

“I usually am.”

Thomas puts a little distance between them and before Alexander can feel hurt, he raises his arm and leads Alex through a quick spin. Then he pulls him back, his hand going back to Alexander’s waist and holding him close. 

“Anything you want to share with the class?”

His eyes are curious, maybe even concerned, and Alexander doesn’t know what to do with it. His emotions are a whirlwind inside of him, complex and confusing and in desperate need of being sorted out. He’s stuck here, on this dangerous precipice, and he doesn’t know what to fucking do. The feeling, the confusion, is so new that it makes him almost claustrophobic. Like he’s drowning in his own skin. 

But when Alexander looks into those grey eyes, colour swirling so delicately - like God had taken an extra century to get them just right - he realizes that everything is okay. There’s no countdown clock weighing on his shoulders, no need to figure everything out right this moment, no need to do anything except be here. 

And Thomas looks so handsome, with the soft grey light falling down from above them, in his stupidly ridiculous floral suit and that dazzling, curious smile of his. He looks curious and attentive, and like the walking definition of everything Alexander craves in his life. But there is no jealousy, there is no envy, because - for once - Alexander doesn’t wish it was him. He doesn’t wish he had the charm or the smile or the handsome looks. 

He wishes the man who had it was his.

And that right there is the exact moment he realizes that maybe it’s not _just_ a crush. 

Alexander smiles, even with the world slowly falling apart in front of his eyes from the new revelation, because it's Thomas. And he doesn’t think there’s anything else he can do. 

Then he remembers Thomas asked him a question. “It’s nothing important, I assure you.”

His gaze drops a little, taking in the slope of Thomas’s nose, and then it drops a little further. Thomas has nice lips, he thinks, and he can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to lean up just a little. They’re close, closer than they have any right to be, and it would be so easy to just kiss him. He would only have to move a few inches, just a step forward and up, and his lips would brush against Thomas’s own. 

But he can’t do that, because even if he’s Thomas’s, that doesn’t mean Thomas is his. 

His eyes flicker back to Thomas’s and he finds the man watching him still. His hand is firm and unyielding on Alexander’s hip and his eyebrow is arched in curious consideration. 

He looks as though he wants to push the issue, like he wants to ask more, but he doesn’t. Thomas simply tightens his hands on Alex’s waist as the room between them vanishes almost completely. They’re pressed together, Thomas’s body lean and taught against his own, and Alexander finds that he can’t be bothered to care. 

“Mmhm,” The words are light as they leave Thomas’s tongue, “Whatever you say, darling.”

He looks away from Thomas, intent on laughing off the pet name, but before he has the chance his eyes catch on someone else. 

Martha is standing a few yards away, Lafayette nowhere in sight, and she’s clutching two glasses of what Alex thinks is whiskey. She’s watching them, not making a move to interrupt but not walking away either. Her brow is furrowed and, to Alex’s surprise, she doesn’t look mad or upset. 

She looks confused. 

He glances away from her and looks back down at where Thomas’s gloves are pressed against Alex’s black suit. 

Well - he thinks - if Martha’s confused, that makes two of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not what you think. or maybe it is, I don't know what you're thinking. 
> 
> a few notes  
\- bam, more pining. also floral suits!!  
\- say hi on my Tumblr: writtenrevolution. I post sneak peeks and complain about writing chapters there. It's a fun time.  
\- hint for next chapter: 2 different revelations and MacBeth  
\- standard end note: unless you tell me otherwise, I will assume this is shit and give up writing. Then I will escape to the mountains where I will spend the remainder of my life unlearning the English language.


	17. an introduction to emotional tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you expected Alexander to finally get his shit together and stop being so oblivious, then im sorry to tell you that it doesn't happen just yet. BUT we are finally in the homestretch. Things from here on out move pretty quickly, and we see a lot of "progress" very quickly. I'm so excited to get these next few chapters out, because oh my gosh. 
> 
> In other news, get your umbrellas ready folks, because I feel a storm coming.

Election day passes in an easy familiarity. The results are officially released that next Wednesday, and Alexander makes a mental note to harass all the lame-duck Republicans into voting for his National Bank bill. They’d have no need to fear repercussions at this point, and once he got the all clear, he’d have to ask Philip Schuyler to bring it to the floor. 

It all was coming together as planned. 

The next day, a Thursday, brings dreary weather and misery. Alexander spends the day finalizing several new governmental assistance programs and budget reports, before the lull of rain against the window finally breaks him. 

He drops the manilla folder from his fingers and pushes away from the desk in front of him. It’s not often that he finds himself bored with his work, but between the rain drumming against the window and the headache that’s starting to build behind his eyes, he can admit that he needs a break. 

Alex stands from his chair, making quick strides to the hallway, where he sees Maria typing quietly on her laptop. 

“I have to drop by Secretary Jefferson’s office. Take any messages and tell them I’m doing something exceptionally important.”

“Of course, sir.” Maria says on instinct, not bothering to stop her typing as she shoots him a less than subtle grin. 

“Thank you, Maria.”

He strides towards Thomas’s office with his hands in his pocket and an easy smile on his face, that is until he rounds the corner and sees that the man’s door is already open. 

And then he hears her voice. 

Alex winces immediately at the sound of Martha’s sweet inflection, remembering the way she purposely didn’t comment on their dance the night of the Gala. He remembers the look on her face when they finally found their way back to the table, and Thomas took his seat by her. 

It wasn’t mad or upset or anything in between. She had been perfectly collected, and if she was thrown off guard by whatever it was she saw between them on the dance floor, she was excellent at hiding it. 

He stops in his tracks outside the man’s door, at an impasse. He really doesn’t want to see her. He doesn’t want to see her perfect smile, or smell her perfume, or watch her interact with Thomas. 

But there’s another part of him - a passive aggressive, petty, bitter side - that wants to see what Thomas would do. Would he send Martha away, or would he send Alexander away?

He wants to hope it would be the former, but a treasonous part of his brain reminds him that hope is not the same thing as knowing. 

Before he has a chance to make up his mind, he hears her voice again from inside of Thomas’s office. 

“I really should be going, but it was lovely as always to see you.” Martha says, and her voice is soft and perfect and gentle, “Just let me know about next week.”

“Yes, I will. I don’t think it should be a problem, but I’ll have to check with Peggy to see if I can swing it.” Comes Thomas’s reply, and Alexander bites the bullet and approaches the door. 

It’s then that he catches a glimpse of them embracing. Her thin arms are thrown around his shoulders, and Thomas’s hands are wrapped around her waist. 

A sharp stab of jealousy bites at his chest, and Alexander has to cool the expression on his face before he can bring himself to knock on the door. 

He gets there in half a second and then knocks twice on the open door. 

Thomas’s eyes find his as he pulls away from Martha, the smile that falls upon his face automatic, like it was a habit at this point. 

“Hi, sorry for interrupting. Do you have a moment?”

Thomas nods, his eyes darting from Alex and then to Martha, “Yeah, of course. Martha was just on her way out.”

At the mention of her name, Martha turns that perfect smile in Alex’s direction, “Alexander, it is so nice to run into you again.”

He forces a smile at her, because even if she is single handedly ruining his life, she still doesn’t deserve Alexander bitching at her, “I feel the same, Martha.”

There’s a silence for a moment as Martha looks at him, her expression curious and considering, until she shakes her head once and that smile reappears, “I really must take my leave, excuse me.”

And then she’s striding out of Thomas’s office with quick steps, balanced perfectly in 4 inch heels. 

As soon as she’s gone, and the door closes conspicuously behind her, Alexander turns his attention back to Thomas. 

“What’d you need?” The man asks, walking behind his desk and settling into the seat. His eyes are trained on Alexander, and his lips are curved in a small smile. 

“Uh, about that.” He doesn’t know how to explain that he doesn’t really have a reason for being here. He just wanted to talk to Thomas. 

Thomas’s scoffs a soft laugh and rolls his eyes as he leans further back in the chair, “Let me guess, you don’t need anything and you’ve come to annoy me?”

“First off, we both know you love me being here.” Alexander says, not trying to fight his answering grin, “And secondly, I do have a reason. I’m in desperate need of a break, and I’ve come to borrow your book collection.”

Thomas raises an unimpressed eyebrow, but the smile on his face proves to make him look anything but serious. He gestures to the bookcase adjacent to his desk, “Help yourself.”

Alexander takes him up on the words in an instant, moving closer to the bookcase and looking for something to read. He’s leaning towards Shakespeare, the rainy day makes him nostalgic, and he thinks MacBeth might be the perfect read. 

His eyes trace along the books lining the shelves. Each spine is a different shade of grey, and his eyes blur a little as he squints at them. 

“Hey where’s MacBeth? I can’t find it.” Alexander asks after a moment, tracing his fingers along the soft spines of Thomas’s book collection. 

“It’s over there, I just saw it yesterday.”

He squints harder, bending his knees and tilting his head to get a better look of the titles. His hand brushes along each book as he reads the titles to himself, “Maybe you should put this in an actual order, because I can’t find it.”

Alexander hears Thomas’s loud and dramatic sigh, “Second shelf, right next to the one with the blue cover.”

He rolls his eyes, “Not helpful, assh-” And then the words stop as his brain catches up with him. Thomas’s words aren’t helpful, but they are revealing. Because Alexander might not be able to see their colour, but apparently Thomas can.

He turns fast on his heels, eyes finding Thomas’s. And it becomes quite evident in that very moment that Thomas realizes what he said, and what he gave away. 

“What did you say?” Alexander asks, and his voice is low. 

“Alexand-”

“You’ve met your soulmate?” 

Thomas blinks at him, his expression slipping from terrified to confused. Or maybe confused isn’t the right expression. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes squinted, and he’s looking at Alexander like he said the dumbest thing anyone’s ever heard. 

When it becomes clear that Thomas isn’t going to answer, Alexander continues on, steamrolling through the rising angst in his chest, “How’d you meet them? Who is it? Do I know them?”

There’s a voice in the back of his head, one that sounds freakishly like Burr, that’s telling him it’s obvious. It’s telling him he already knows who Thomas’s soulmate is. 

It all makes sense. The closeness, the flirting, the gloves, the blue book. 

The book colour would have only been visible to Thomas if his soulmate touched it, and his mind helpfully supplies an individual that he knows would have had the opportunity to do so. 

The world breaks in that instant, because Alexander comes to the conclusion that Thomas’s soulmate is probably Martha. Which means they’re soulmates. Thomas and Martha are soulmates, Thomas and Martha are the perfect match. Thomas and Martha are-

It’s then that he realizes that Thomas meeting his soulmate means he’s off the table. He isn’t an option for Alexander, not anymore. So whatever thoughts or feelings he had about the other man are obsolete. They don’t matter anymore, because Thomas has a soulmate. 

And it’s not Alexander. 

When he speaks again, his words are whispered softly, as if speaking too loud will only further the inevitable, “You met your soulmate.”

“Alex, I really don’t want to talk about this.” Thomas replies, looking down at the papers strewn across his desk and refusing to meet Alexander’s eyes. 

He takes a step forward, desperation feeling too obvious in every pore of his body. Like he might finally crack this carefully formed facade and everything will come falling down around him. And Thomas would be gone then, and there’d be no one left to help him pick up the pieces.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he says the first thing that comes to mind, “This is- Thomas, this of all things you don’t want to talk about?”

That, apparently, was not the right thing to say. 

Thomas’s jaw clenches tight as he leans further back into his chair, arms crossed over his chest, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Alexander’s mouth falls open just a little bit, because of the absurdity of the situation. Thomas finally knows who his soulmate is, but he doesn’t want to fucking talk about it? He knows that Thomas has always been weird about soulmates, but considering how close he and Martha already were, Alex had assumed that he’d be past his fear already. 

“You’re not going to tell me who it is?”

Thomas’s tongue comes out to brush against his bottom lip. After a second of him just staring back at Alexander, he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “No, Alexander. I’m not.”

And it hurts. 

It feels like disappointment, betrayal, and disbelief are all coursing through his veins as he stares at the helpless look on Thomas’s face. He had thought that they were past this, that they were close enough to be able to share something so big - so monumental. He had thought he had proven that Thomas could trust him. And it’s a reminder that Alexander didn’t need. It’s a reminder that just because he’s given so much trust to Thomas, it doesn’t mean Thomas returns it. And just because he’s drawn up their friendship in his head - complete with a golden bow and a banner - it doesn’t mean Thomas feels the same way. It’s been in his head the entire time, their closeness, their trust, their dependability. 

And each time he keeps thinking they are on the same page, it keeps getting shoved down his throat that they’re not. They’re not on the same page now, and Alexander doesn’t know if they’ve ever been. 

“Alexander, please don’t be mad.” Thomas says, and it interrupts the spiraling of his internal monologue, “I’m sorr-”

“Don’t.” He forces the words out before Thomas can finish his sentence, “You don’t owe me and explanation, and you sure as hell don’t owe me an apology.”

He isn’t mad, he’s hurt. 

Thomas still has the apologetic look on his face and it's making Alexander feel guiltier by the minute. 

He forces himself to take a deep breath and drops back into the seat across from Thomas, “I’m not mad, I swear. I don’t know if you don’t want to tell me because you don’t trust me, or if it’s something else, but whoever your soulmate is, it’s none of my business. It’s personal, and I get that. I shouldn’t have pushed you to tell me.”

His words have the opposite intended effect, and Thomas looks stricken, “What? Do you really think that I don’t trust you?”

He has to glance away from the look on Thomas’s face and shrugs, “I honestly don’t know, Thomas. We used to hate each other, and ever since we became friends we haven’t really talked about trust or anything like that.”

When he looks back at Thomas, the man’s face is even worse than before. His lips are pursed, corners turned down, his eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. 

“I should just go,” Alexander says, standing up from the chair and turning towards the door. 

Before he can even reach out to open it, Thomas grabs his hand and he’s spun around to face him. 

“I trust you.” Thomas says and his words are spoken in a conviction that cannot be faked, “You’re one of the few people that I do trust, Alexander. Please don’t ever think otherwise. This is just- it’s not something I can tell you right now.”

Alexander opens his mouth to reply, but then Thomas’s hand - the one that’s not squeezing his wrist - comes up to brush against his cheek. The movement, the gesture, freezes him to the spot and no words are able to slip out. Thomas’s gaze drags along his face in slow strokes and that hand cups his jaw, his thumb brushing against Alex’s cheek. The gesture is so tender, so pure, that Alexander has to take a steadying breath and remind himself that this doesn’t mean anything. 

Thomas has a soulmate, and it’s not Alexander. 

“I want to tell you so badly. I can’t think of a single thing I want more than to tell you everything, to explain it to you, but I just can’t - not yet. Things are complicated, and I’m..” Thomas’s words fade out a little at the end, and he looks away from Alex’s eyes. 

“You’re what?” Alexander finally manages to force the words out, and Thomas’s hand curls a little on his jaw. 

Thomas’s eyes flicker back to his and they are full of an emotion he can’t name. Then the man takes a little breath and whispers, “I’m scared.”

Thomas’s voice is nothing like Alex has ever heard from him before. Gone is the facade of confidence and ‘holier than thou’ attitude. It’s replaced by quiet fear and the slight quiver of his words. It becomes evidently clear in that moment that Thomas’s hesitation in telling him might not be because of Alexander, but rather because he’s still so terrified of what soulmates mean. 

But friends are the people you share your fears with, your darkest secrets, the things you don’t tell anyone else. And he’s going to prove a thousand times over that he can be that person for Thomas. He wants Thomas to tell him everything, even if he doesn’t like what he hears. 

Alexander leans into the touch, taking a step closer so his hand can grasp the rough fabric of Thomas’s suit. He tilts his chin up further, forcing eye contact, and looking into those hues of grey. They are just as beautiful as they’ve always been, and Alexander is not surprised. Thomas has always been beautiful. 

Thomas’s eyes find his, his expression morose, and Alexander doesn’t look away. 

“Why are you so scared?” His voice, too, is a whisper. Like speaking too loud will break them out of this moment of intimacy- an intimacy that is not meant for Alex, but one he craves anyways. 

A breath escapes Thomas’s (beautiful, perfect) mouth, and there’s a hint of a bittersweet smile on the curve of his lips as he gazes back into Alex’s eyes, “I have so many reasons.” 

His hand tightens a little in Thomas’s jacket and he stares unblinkingly up at him, “You can tell me why. You can tell me anything.” 

Thomas’s thumb is featherlight across his cheek, just a ghost of pressure, and Alexander swears he can almost feel the heat from his skin bleeding through. 

He wants it more than words can describe. He wants to be able to feel the heat that falls from his hands, wants to soak it up in its entirety, and the thought is strange to him. Alexander has never craved someone’s touch so badly before, but the thought of it makes him feel strung out and overwhelmed. It is new and enticing, and he wants it so badly it hurts. 

“What if I was wrong about it all? What if it ruins everything? What if they drive me to ruin? What if they don’t feel the same way? What if I’ve been reading into it and projecting my own feelings? What if things go to shit, and I never get to see them again? What if things don’t work out? What if-”

He reaches up with the hand that isn’t fisted in Thomas’s suit jacket, and brushes his thumb against Thomas’s bottom lip to quiet him. This time, his actions have the intended effect and Thomas’s breath catches in his throat and the words fall silent. 

And then Alexander says the words that threaten to rip his heart from his chest, “I get it, honestly, I do. But she would be lucky to have someone like you. I can’t think of anyone more deserving of her love. You are kind, smart, thoughtful, caring, and a million other words pulled straight from the definition of a good man. If she can’t see that, if she can’t see how truly incredible you are, then she doesn’t deserve your love or your time. And I know it sounds cliche, but I mean it, Thomas. You are worth so much, and you deserve so much in return.”

Out of all of his words, out of all his poetry, Thomas fixates on a single word. 

“She?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed as his gaze flickers between Alexander’s eyes. 

“It’s okay,” Alex murmurs in response, brushing his thumb just a little closer to the shadow that falls under Thomas’s lips because he can’t help himself, “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Alexande-”

“I’m not mad.” He reassures him, “It’s your secret Thomas, and something that doesn’t concern me is none of my business. So, if you need to keep it to yourself for now, I won’t be mad. It’s not my concern, and I’m sorry if I made you feel like I thought otherwise.”

Thomas’s expression shifts then, to something that Alexander can’t really name. His tongue comes out to drag against his bottom lip and Alex’s eyes follow the movement. 

When he looks back up, Thomas’s eyebrows are knitted together - like he’s confused. But then he drags that thumb across Alex’s skin and says, “I promise one day I will tell you everything.”

Alexander leans up, just a little, and the distance between them becomes even more scarce. “I’ll wait.”

Thomas leans closer too, and they’re so fucking close - literally just centimeters between them - and Alex can feel his soft breath as it fawns on his face and if he were to just lean a little clo-

Someone knocks on the door. 

His first thought is that it’s Martha. His second thought is how bad this would look to literally anyone. 

Thomas still has his hand on Alex’s wrist, pulling him close and keeping him there. His other hand is still cupping his jaw, angling his head higher and keeping their mouths so damn close. Alex has one hand fisted in Thomas’s suit jacket and the other pressed against his lip. 

Yeah, he thinks, not a great thing for someone to walk in on. 

He jumps back before the person knocks again, straightening his jacket and shooting Thomas a panicky half smile. Before he can say anything else, the door gets pushed open and Madison walks in. 

His attention is focused on his phone, far away from whatever it was that was just happening in front of him, and for that Alexander is grateful. 

“Hey you ready to go-” Madison looks up at the end of his sentence, and the words die on his lips. He shoots Thomas a look, and then that same look is turned Alexander’s way. He doesn’t really know how to describe it, the way Madison’s brow is arched and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips, but it makes him very uneasy and gives him the sense that there’s something vital he doesn’t know. 

“Forgive me for interrupting.” Madison says slowly, his eyes dragging up Alexander’s body like he’s looking for anything amiss. Alexander stares back unflinching, even if he feels otherwise, and simply raises his own eyebrow in response.

“It’s alright, James, we were just finishing some work.” Thomas replies for the both of them, his voice calm and collected. It’s exactly the opposite of how Alexander feels. 

“Of course,” Madison says, and it sounds genuine but Alexander can see the skepticism in every line of his body. 

“I should go.” He says before Madison can shoot that knowing glance in his direction again, “I’ll, uh, email you all my notes.”

“Right, yes, thank you, Alexander. Have a good night.” Thomas says on instinct and Alexander returns the sentiments, offering him another half smile in his rather unsubtle efforts to flee the room. 

The door shuts behind him with a click and Alexander presses his back to it in an effort to let his heartbeat return to normal. When it finally does, and he feels like he can walk without breaking into a sprint and screaming, he shakily pulls his phone from his pocket and types out a message to the group chat he shares with John and Lafayette. 

To: Group Chat - John Laurens & Lafayette

Alexander: I need to drink. Can we go out tonight, please?

It’s nowhere near the time he usually leaves, but he’s already ahead of his work, and besides, Washington would probably encourage him leaving early for once. 

He starts the walk back to his own office slowly, trying not to think about anything in particular, and before he even reaches the door, his phone chimes twice in his hand. 

From: Group Chat - John Laurens & Lafayette

Lafayette: Sorry babe I have to pass, I’m working late tonight!

John Laurens: sucks to suck, laf. alex, i’ll meet you there in ten?

He shoots back a confirmation, before throwing his laptop and this morning’s paperworks into his satchel. Alexander tosses it over his shoulder, hears a joint in his arm pop, and finally lets out a breath he’s been holding for too long. 

Alcohol is what he needs. It’ll take the edge off, it’ll make him feel a little less confused, and maybe he’ll be able to sort out some of the more confusing thoughts in his head. 

It's not perfect, but it is a plan.

When he gets to Rocky’s, which isn’t too full on this Thursday night, he finds John in their back booth. He’s nursing a beer and scrolling through his phone. Alexander drops by the bar, sitting at one of the stools near the corner, and smiles when Caleb’s eyes find his. 

“Aye, Hammie, what’ll it be tonight?” Caleb says, and his Eastern accent has never been more prominent than it is in that moment. 

“Shots please, lots of very potent shots. I want to be dying in the booth.”

Caleb sends him an amused look as he grabs a bottle of tequila from the shelf behind him, “You look like shit.”

He watches as the shot glasses get poured in front of him, not a single drop of alcohol getting dropped on the table as Caleb goes down the line filling them. 

“I feel like shit.”

“Well then,” The man says as he places the shots on a tray, “Consider these on the house.”

“I have never loved you more than I do right now.”

The answering smirk is enough to make Alexander smile, and it feels nice. He feels a little less off center, and the world - while still falling down around him - has slowed its pace a little. 

“Go get sloshed and let me know when ya need a cab.”

Alex shoots a grin back to him, grabbing the trays and a few limes, and making his way to the corner where John waits. 

When John looks up from his phone, his eyebrow arches almost as soon as he sees the shots Alexander has with him. 

“That kind of night?”

Alex doesn’t even bother responding first, just downs three shots in quick succession and savours the burn in his throat. It hurts, feels like someone forced acid down his lungs, but it's a burn he relinquishes in. 

“Today was shit.” Alexander says as his third glass hits the table, empty. 

“You want to tell me why?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words taste bitter on his lips, so he throws back one more shot for good measure. If he’s going to get drunk and talk about why his life is turning into a shit show, he’s going to be fucking hammered when he does it. 

He drops the empty glass with the others and bites down on a lime wedge to dull the burn in his mouth. When he moves it, Alexander simply sighs and drops his head into his hand. 

“That bad?”

“I want to kiss Thomas.”

John doesn’t say anything as a reply, and after a long moment, Alexander finally gets the courage to look back up at him.

John’s face is blank and passive. He blinks once when Alex makes eye contact with him, before his eyes go wide, “Oh, is this supposed to be shocking? Oh my _God_, Alexander, _you_ want to _kiss_ Thomas! _How_ _could_ _you_?”

Alexander rolls his eyes at the overdramatic tone, “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“Then why don’t you tell me why it’s such a problem that you want to kiss Thomas? You’ve practically been begging for it since you’ve met.”

“I have not!”

John scoffs, “Alright then.”

He sighs, deep and to the core, and rubs his fingers across his forehead as if it would make his impending headache go away. “It’s a problem because Thomas found his soulmate.”

John doesn’t even blink, so Alex continues, “I think his soulmate is Martha.”

Saying those words out loud is worse than tequila, so he throws back another shot. 

“So you want to kiss a guy who has a soulmate? You’ve wanted to before, and it’s never been this big of a problem. I’m sorry, but I’m really not following here, Alex. You’re going to have to spell it out for me. Why is having a harmless crush such a world-ending thing?”

“I mean, I think I really like him.” Alexander says quickly, forcing the words from his mouth, “I mean, I’m kind of disappointed. I haven’t given it much thought, but now that I know Martha’s his soulmate, it makes me kind of wish that, well, she wasn’t.”

John winces in sympathy as he finally comes to the conclusion that Alexander can’t say out loud just yet, “Ohhhhhh.”

“Yeah.”

“So you want him to be your soulmate?”

Alex toys with the empty shot glass in front of him. “I mean, maybe? I don’t really know. Now that I’m thinking about it, being his soulmate wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.”

“Welcome to the world of unrequited feelings. It sucks, I'd know. Before I found Ben, that was my hometown.”

“What the fuck am I even supposed to do?” Alexander bemoans, poking at the lime wedge in front of him. 

“Well getting drunk is the first step. The second step is moving on. You’re young, you’re hot, go out and get laid, man. Or, at the very least, go on a date with someone. When was the last time you went on an actual date?”

“I don’t know,” He shrugs, feeling as the tequila slowly begins working its way into his bloodstream. It dulls a little of the pain in his chest, “Probably with Eliza.”

“Then that’s what you need to do.” John tells him, mouth pursed like he’s fucking Dr. Phil, “Let me set you up with someone.”

“You know I don’t want to get serious with someone that isn’t my soulmate. Not again.”

John takes a sip of his beer and Alex watches the way his throat works around it, “I’m not saying it has to be serious. Jesus, I’m not saying you should fucking propose on the first date. Just put yourself out there again. Have a little fun, stop thinking about Thomas, and relax a little. It’s the best way to get over someone.”

As much as he doesn’t want to see anyone else, John has a point. Thomas isn’t his, he’s never been his, and if Alex doesn’t try to get over this shit soon, then he’s going to be in deeper than he already is. 

He pushes a shot towards John and picks up one for himself. John clinks their glasses together and says, “Fuck it.”

Alex huffs a laugh, leaning back as he dumps the shot down his throat, and slams the shot glass back on the table. 

“Yeah, fuck it.” Alexander agrees with a conviction he doesn’t feel, “Fuck it all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes:
> 
> \- Alexander choosing to look for MacBeth is a symbolic choice by yours truly. Anyone want to guess why?  
\- Hmm, I wonder where Thomas's white jacket is?  
\- I think this fic is going to be longer than TAOTC, which is insane  
\- come yell at me in the comments and tell me what you like about this fic/what you hate. drag me or hype me up, the choice is yours.  
\- standard end note: unless you tell me otherwise, I will assume this is shit and probably cry. (in all seriousness, if y'all want to drop me some nice comments, It would make my day. Uni starts back up in a few hours and ya girl could use some happy vibes)


	18. insert john andré

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insert John André.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was going to wait to post this but I lied. Anyway, here ya go! (two chapters in like 3 days?? who am I?)
> 
> Also, check the end notes. I have some news you might like to hear ;)

When Alexander is finally pulled out of the peaceful blackness that surrounds him, it's because of the turning in his stomach. 

He blinks a few times, trying to drag up whatever memories he still has from last night, and takes a second to catalog where he is. The apartment is familiar, but not familiar enough to be his own. 

He looks at the heaviness on his chest, and finds John draped over him. The man is a heavy and uncomfortable weight, much opposed to how Thomas had felt across him, and Alex can’t help the groan that leaves his mouth at the discomfort. John’s face is squished against his neck, and too sharp elbows stabbing into Alex’s ribcage. He can feel John’s leg between his own, knee dangerously close to Alex’s delicate parts, and he’s too hot and the rolling in his stomach is only increased by the heat. 

“Jesus fuck, you’re heavy.” He huffs, using the arm not trapped by John’s torso to shove the man off. His voice is a croak, hoarse and dry, and he has nothing but the tequila and his own bad decision making to blame.. 

He can breath a little easier now that John isn’t crushing his lungs, and he rolls onto the other side of the bed to hide his face in the pillow case. The sheets smell like John’s detergent, and he comes to the conclusion that they must have gone back to John’s apartment after the bar last night. 

The light streaming in from outside is dimmed, thankfully by the curtains drawn, so when he peeks out from the sheets, he isn’t immediately blinded. 

He jabs at John’s sleeping form with his arm and the man makes a wounded noise in reply. Then he pulls a pillow over his head and mutters, “Leave me alone, fucker, some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Get up, you have to take me to my car.” Alexander replies, rolling over further to grab his phone from the nightstand. 

There are a few news alerts, a snapchat from Lafayette, and a new message from an unsaved number. He blinks at the digits, before unlocking his phone and reading the text. 

From Unknown (9:34AM): Hello, Alex. This is John André, Laurens gave me your number and said you might be up for dinner? I was thinking we could go out tonight, if you’re not busy? Just let me know, and we can work out the details. I look forward to hearing from you.

He blinks once. 

He blinks twice. 

“You absolute fucker.” Alexander says once he rereads through the message again, “You actually gave my number to some random guy and told him I’d go out with him?”

This gets John’s attention. He rolls out from underneath the pillow and sprawls out further on the bed, popping the bones in his back as he stretches. There is enough white sunlight slipping through the curtains that it falls down on the stray freckles littering John’s face, illuminating them and making them more prominent against his grey skin, “First off, he’s not some random guy, I work with him. Secondly, you’re the one who encouraged me to send it to him.”

He closes his eyes, trying to fight the nausea that turns in his stomach, and thinks back to last night. Everything after his sixth shot is empty and he groans out loud. God, he really wishes he was the type of person who could remember what he did when he was drunk. 

“Great, so I’ll just tell him that I can’t make it.”

John’s sigh is so loud, so exasperated, that it makes Alexander wince. “Alex, we already had this conversation. You should go out with him. André is a really great guy, he’s handsome, charming, and he has a British accent, not to mention that he’s one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met- present company excluded. You two would be really good together.”

“You’re right, we already had this conversation and I told you that I didn’t want to date anyone that wasn’t my soulmate.”

John licks his lips, looks like he’s barely holding back an eyeroll, as he continues on, “You want to know something?”

Alexander narrows his eyes, “What?”

“It’s been five years.” John says slowly, measured and even, “Five years since you called off your engagement to Eliza.”

The mention of Eliza, of their relationship, makes him startle. Then, almost as soon as he gets where John’s going, his shackles rise and he’s on the defensive. 

“We’re not talking about that.”

“Of course we’re not. We’ve never talked about it Alexander. We didn’t talk about it when Eliza first met Herc, we didn’t talk about it when she begged you for advice, we didn’t talk about it when you pushed her away, and we sure as hell didn’t talk about it when you decided to end your engagement to her. It’s been five years, Alexander, and we haven’t spoken about it once.”

“We haven’t talked about it because there is nothing to fucking talk about.” Alexander’s words are hissed as he pulls himself from the bed, trying to put as much room between him and John as possible, “It’s done and over, John. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Don’t you ever wonder if the reason you’re so afraid of getting attached to someone is because of her?”

“Of course it’s because of her!” Alexander’s neck whips around to stare at John where it’s sitting up in the bed, “I don’t have to wonder, because I already fucking know.”

“Then why don’t you stop pretending like you’re over what happened? Why don’t you just talk to me, let me help you?”

“How can you fucking help me? You have literally no idea what it was like.”

John’s hands are up in surrender, his expression cool and composed, “Ale-”

“There’s no way you could ever even imagine what it’s like. I loved her. She was everything I’ve ever wanted, John. I loved her so much, like she was a part of me.” Alexander’s words are spoken harsh and biting, “Do you know what it's like? To love someone so fully and completely. To think you’re going to marry someone, to think they’re going to be the mother of your child, to think that you’re going to grow old together? Do you know what its like to finally, _ finally _ fucking think that things are different? To think that you finally have a chance at happiness with someone?”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“And just when you think that everything is good, it all gets ripped away from you in a second.” Alexander’s voice loses its edge as he remembers that night, “Do you know what it’s like to have your fiance come to you and tell you that she’ll give up her soulmate, her one true chance of happiness, for you? Do you know what it’s like to have to make that decision?”

It has been five years. He’s had five years to put this shit behind him. But Alex knows he hasn’t. It’s not that he’s still in love with her, because he isn’t, but he’s never going to be over the way they ended. Alex tries to blink away the growing pressure behind his eyes. He will not cry over Eliza, not again

“No,” John says softly, “I don’t, and that’s why I want you to tell me.”

The fight leaves his body in an instance and he takes a step closer to the bed. Alexander sits down on the side, keeping his body turned away from John as he closes his eyes. “She would have stayed if I asked.”

“I know. She loved you."

“I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t do that to Hercules.” Alexander says slowly, feels the way tears are starting to gather in his eyes as he unhashes something he’s kept hidden for so long, “I saw the look on her face, you know? When she first met him and saw colour. And I had never seen her look so happy before, I couldn’t deprive her of that.”

Alexander squeezes his eyes shut, letting the memory play across his eyelids for the first time in years. 

He remembers how excited he was that Hercules was flying in from New York. He remembers picking him up from the airport, talking about wedding plans and what kind of suit he would wear. He remembers walking Hercules to the kitchen. 

Alexander squeezes his eyes tighter. 

He remembers Eliza walking around the corner and stopping dead in her tracks. He remembers the look of awe on her face as she saw colour for the first time. He remembers the sobbing, desperate pleas that came after that, when she asked Alexander what she was supposed to do. Her plea wasn’t an ultimatum, it was worse, it was a decision he had to make. A decision about his happiness, about Eliza’s, and about Hercules’. 

He didn’t take a second to think about it. She had loved him and he had loved her, but she wasn’t his to love, not after that day. 

A tear falls down his cheek as he remembers calling off the wedding and the engagement. He remembers John’s hand on his shoulder as he tried to explain why they weren’t going through with it. 

He remembers Eliza’s simple, watery and tear filled request, “Please don’t hate me.” A request that he still fulfills to this day. He could never hate her for that. He could never hate her for a decision she had no choice to make. Alexander had loved her, all consuming and indefinite, but that meant he loved her enough to let her be happy. And, in this case, happy wasn’t with him. 

Alexander had loved her so deeply. He had dreamt and fantasized about their future, about what they could do together, and then he had suffered the aftermath of their love alone. 

He blinks a couple times, reaching up to wipe the tears from his cheeks, before he turns to face John. “I don’t think I can do it again. I don’t think I could survive another heartbreak like that. That’s why I’m so scared of getting involved with someone that isn’t my soulmate again.”

“That’s understandable.” John’s words are gentle, supportive, and he reaches out to place his hand on Alex’s shoulder. 

“But that isn’t the problem; I’ve known that for years now. The problem is that everytime I close my eyes and think of trying again, with someone that isn’t my soulmate, there’s only one person I can imagine it with.” Alexander finally forces the words he’s been thinking for a long time from his mouth, “And that person just found their own soulmate.”

“Are you saying if Thomas didn’t have a soulmate, you might actually date him?”

“Maybe,” He shrugs, “I don’t really know. The thought of getting involved with anyone that isn’t my soulmate scares the shit out of me. I don’t think I’d ever actually be able to go through with it, but in theory - if I did - I’d want to do it with Thomas.”

“Listen, Alex. If you really don’t want to go out with André, I can explain the situation to him. But you don’t even have to think of it as a date. It’s just two people with a lot in common going to dinner. Even if you don’t want to date him, I still think you two could be great friends.”

Alexander lays back down on the bed, his head hitting the pillow as John curls up beside him, “I’m just scared.”

The words remind him of yesterday. They remind him of Thomas, of the way he had stroked Alexander’s face, of the way that Thomas wasn’t his. Thomas wasn’t his, and he never was going to be his. 

Because Thomas had a soulmate, and Alexander had a trunk full of issues. 

“It’s okay to be scared.” John says, his hand running through Alexander’s hair. 

He leans into the touch, into the softer side of John’s personality that he barely puts on display, and closes his eyes. He has to get over Thomas and whatever pesky little crush he has on him. He has to. 

“I’ll go.” Alexander says after a moment.

John’s hand stills in his hair for a second, before he resumes the soft movements, “Okay.”

He blinks open to look at John’s smiling face. He offers a smile of his own in return, “It’s a date.”

John’s grin grows even wider, his cute dimples more prominent and his freckles on full display. He leans up to press a soft, feather light kiss to Alex’s forehead before he tucks his nose into the crook of Alexander’s neck. 

“I love you.” John murmurs against the skin there. 

Alexander looks down at the man’s hair, feeling fondness and love sweep through his chest. Then he looks back up at the ceiling and says, “I love you too.”

He ends up leaving John’s at a quarter till eleven. He is showered, shaved, and dressed in one of the many suits stashed in John’s closet that the man will never wear. John drops him off at his car, parked at the bar, and Alexander’s stomach quivers at the sight of it. Last night had been too much too fast, and he was paying for it this morning. 

Once in the driver’s seat, he double checks his email to make sure his meeting with MacClay is still on. There’s no new email or cancelation, so he throws his car in reverse - listening to the way his brakes squeal in protest- and heads towards Pennsylvania Ave. 

When he arrives at Marcel’s just as the clock strikes 11:30, because of Washington’s damn traffic, he fixes his tie in the rearview mirror and proceeds to give himself a pep talk. This was a business lunch to convince MacClay - and in turn the rest of the lame duck Republicans - that they had nothing to lose by voting for his bill. There would be no backlash from their constituents, no backlash from Madison, or from their party. That was the entire point of lame duck representatives, they had nothing left to lose. 

Alexander holds his chin high as he enters the restaurant, eyes immediately finding MacClay seated at a table near the corner of the room. It was a smart move, hidden from the windows and far enough away from the main dining room to give them privacy. 

He takes a breath and keeps an easy smile on his face as he approaches the table. 

MacClay looks up from the menu as Alexander carefully sits in the seat across from him. 

“Senator MacClay, thank you for meeting with me.” He says, the words rolling off his tongue just as he had practiced. He wasn’t a fan of MacClay, but this was business and he could be professional. 

“Alexander, I’m glad you could make it. I didn’t even think to ask if you could afford this particular venue.” MacClay responds, words monotone but he can hear the bite beneath them. 

And he’s reminded, once again, at how good this man is at being a passive aggressive asshole. While he really isn’t looking forward to dropping 140$ on a five course meal, he’ll do whatever it takes at this point to get his banks. He is desperate, and so damn close, and he’ll drop his entire savings if that’s what it takes to pass his bill. 

“It’s really no problem,” Alexander says immediately, fisting his hands under the table to keep his anger at bay, “I’m sure you know why I asked you to meet with me. Now that you’ve been voted out of-”

“Let’s not talk work just yet.” MacClay interrupts him seamlessly, “Let’s enjoy a nice lunch and then we can talk about politics.”

And so it goes. 

An hour later, when he’s stuffed full of Spanish red prawns, Prince Edward mussels, foie gras, seared lamb loin, coconut rice pudding, and too much wine to be acceptable before one in the after, they finally move onto the good stuff: the politics.

“I know you and Senator Morris were both hesitant about my plan to build an economic structure fitting for our new country, but I assure you that now is the perfect time to take action. My bill to assume state debt passed, and you - along with the other lame ducks - have nothing to lose by voting in favour of part two.” Alexander says carefully as he places his mostly empty wine glass down on the table. God, he needs to stop drinking. 

“Except for the ruin of our country.” MacClay’s words bite back, “The only reason your assumption bill passed was because Secretary Jefferson - for whatever reason - lobbied on your behalf. I must ask what he thinks of this part two.”

As much as he wants to throw Thomas under the bus, to use the man’s influence for his own gain, Alexander knows it wouldn’t work. Not only would Thomas feel betrayed, but MacClay is smart enough to see a bluff when there is one. 

“Secretary Jefferson isn’t entirely supportive of my plan, but his opinion has no hold over you anymore. I stress again that this is the best plan for the United States. The banks are not for privatization, but rather for the steady security of our currency. Banks will raise revenue to pay off the overwhelming debt from the war, and will allow for a harmonious currency across the states.”

MacClay sighs loudly as he leans back in his chair, pushing away what’s left of his Creme Brulee. “The creation of a National Bank isn’t mentioned in the Constitution. Am I right to assume that you have a defense of your banks? That you have proof the creation is constitutional?”

Alexander straightens in his seat. This is the make or break moment. “Of course I do, Senator.”

MacClay taps his finger against the table and Alexander holds his breath. 

“I suppose I can talk with my fellow lame ducks and see if they’re on board.”

Alexander breath leaves his mouth. “Thank you Senator,”

“I can’t promise anything, but if I can get the rest of them on board, then I’d say you’ll have enough votes.”

It isn’t perfect, but it’s progress, and he’ll take whatever he can get. 

He raises his wine glass in a toast, hears the clink of the glass in the quiet of the restaurant. Then he smiles, “That’s all I ask.”

After lunch, and his rather promising meeting with MacClay, Alexander finally has enough confidence to compose an email to Philip Schuyler. He sits at his desk, typing quick across the keys of his laptop. 

**From: aham@exect.gov  
To: phschuyler@senate.gov  
Subject: National Bank Bill  
Senator Schuyler,**

**I have just returned from lunch with Senator MacClay. He has agreed to talk to the rest of the lame duck Republicans in the Senate to see if they are willing to vote yes on the National Bank Bill. I will consult with Angelica to see if we can make more progress, but you have my go ahead to start preparing the bill for the floor reading. **

**Best regards, **

**A.Ham**

It’s as soon as he signs his name to the email that he’s interrupted by a knock on the door. Alexander looks up, squinting at the door, before he leans further back in his seat and says, “Come in.”

The door pushes open and Thomas steps into his office. 

Alexander sits straighter in his seat and tries to arrange his face into something that resembles a smile. He’s still a little thrown off by their talk yesterday, and he isn’t entirely sure how to act. “Hey.”

Thomas’s answering smile is easy and relaxed, like the conversation in his office never took place, “Hey yourself.”

“What can I do for you?”

Thomas shifts on his feet, “Well a few of us are going out for drinks after work, and I thought I’d see if you wanted to tag along?”

Alex arches his eyebrows, “And by a few you mean?”

“Madison’s going and a couple other people, Lafayette's thinking about it.”

He doesn’t want to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t want to ask if Martha is going to be in attendance too. Because it’s none of his business, and he really doesn’t want to know if the answer is yes. 

Alexander looks down at the papers littering his desk before finally forcing himself to meet Thomas’s eyes, “That sounds like a nice time, but I can’t tonight. I actually have a date.”

Thomas’s smile seems to literally freeze on his face for a moment. Its then that it disappears completely, and his lips dip down in the corners. “You- you have a date?”

“Yeah,” He says with a sigh and an air of self deprecation, “Believe it or not.”

“Oh.”

Alexander blinks. “Is that, uh, is that a problem?”

Thomas shakes his head, looking at the floor rather than at Alex, “Of course not.”

“Okay?” Alex says in response, watches the way Thomas slowly moves back towards the door, like he’s about to flee, “Wait, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s great.” Thomas says, but the tone of his voice makes it clear that everything is definitely not okay. 

“Maybe I can drop by afterwards?”

“Yeah, I mean if you want. It’s whatever, honestly.” Thomas replies and his tone sounds, it sounds almost hurt. Which is ridiculous. “Have a good time on your date.”

“Thomas, are you sure everything is okay?”

Thomas gives him a smile that doesn’t look genuine, nor does it reach his eyes, “Everything is fine, Alexander.”

“Well, I’ll see you later then?” 

“If you can swing it, then yeah.” Thomas’s words are distant, “Later, Alex.”

And then he’s walking out of the office, leaving Alexander sitting there, looking after him and trying to figure out what the fuck he did wrong. 

By the time six o’clock rolls around, Alexander feels the telltale signs of anxiety rising within him. He’s supposed to meet André at a nice place down the street at six thirty, and the thought of actually having to go and see him is starting to make him more nervous by the minute. 

He drops by the Oval Office on his way out, purposely walking by Thomas’s office and finding it empty. When he gets to Washington’s office, the door is open and wide. He knocks twice to be respectful, and sees the moment Washington looks up and his gaze finds Alex hovering anxiously at the door. 

Washington’s lips spread into a hint of a smile as he beckons Alex inside with the wave of his wrist, “Alexander, my boy, what can I do for you?” 

“Your Excellency, I know I was supposed to work late tonight, but as I’m sure you’re aware, I’m already weeks ahead of my work and I met with Senator MacClay this morning and everything's coming together on my bank bill and-”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Washington interrupts him with an arched eyebrow, “Are you trying to ask to leave early?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

Washington’s expression grows even more surprised - but by his standards it is still remarkably passive. “By all means, my boy, take the night off. I will admit that I’m quite curious what has convinced you to leave early for once. Most of the time the janitors have to force you to go home.”

Alexander forces down his smile, “I have a date tonight, Sir.”

A beat of silence. 

“You have a date?”

And Alexander really doesn’t understand why that is so shocking to everyone. 

“Yes, I do.”

Washington’s lips are pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed in a way that looks pensive. “Well then, son, I sincerely wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

“Have a good night, Alexander.”

He offers a genuine smile in return, “You too, Sir.”

And then he has no other excuse to force him to stay at the office any longer. Which means he might as well bite the bullet, and go get his ass charmed off by some Brit. 

The Palm is a nice steakhouse on 19th street that Alexander has only ever frequented with Lafayette. It is rather upscale and is often used for business dinners and fine dates. Fine dates that Alexander is not entirely accustomed too. It’s been years since he went on a date, and Eliza had always understood that he prefered lowkey places over restaurants that charged 7$ for water. 

He steps inside, eyes darting over the people already seated, as he tries to recall the way John had described André. Handsome and charming were first on the list, followed by the fact that he was British. 

Alexander is greeted by the hostess, a beautiful woman with long black hair tied behind her neck. “Good evening, Sir. Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes, it’s under André.”

She runs her eyes over the tablet in her hand before returning his smile, “Your party has already arrived. If you follow me, I’ll show you to your table.”

Alexander takes a deep breath and lets her lead the way. They walk through the dining room and then take a sharp left before she turns back to face him. Alex looks at the man sitting at the booth she’s next to, and his eyes widen on instinct. 

“Your server will be with you shortly.” She says before disappearing again, leaving Alexander standing there staring at the man seated before him. 

It would appear that John was not lying. John André might be the textbook definition of handsome. He’s looking up at Alexander, a beautiful smile on his lips, and the incline of his chin only serves to make him look even more breathtaking. 

André’s hair is long, not quite as long as Alexander’s, and it’s tied back at the nape of his neck. There is a single strand of hair, braided delicately, that is left out of the ponytail and it hangs behind his ear. 

“Hi there, you must be Alexander.” André says, his accent coming out crisp and vibrant and hot, “I’m so glad you agreed to meet with me.”

Alexander offers him a genuine smile, immediately feeling himself relax as he takes the seat across from his date, “I’m so glad you asked. Laurens speaks highly of you.”

André laughs at that, his lips pulling apart to show even more of that beautiful smile, his eyes vibrant grey under arched eyebrows, and Alexander has to bite into his lip to keep from smiling too hard at the beautiful melody that greets his ears. 

“I find it hard to believe that Laurens could speak highly of anyone, let alone me.” André responds, that same curve of his lips on display. 

Alexander allows a little laugh to creep out of his mouth as he relaxes further in the seat, “I’m serious, I swear.” He says with a grin, “He didn’t tell me much, but he said you were a great guy.”

“Well, he told me a little about you as well. He said you were intelligent and handsome, but he failed to mention how utterly breathtaking you are.” André says with a wink, and Alexander feels a flush creep onto his cheeks. 

“He told me you were charming, but I was hesitant to believe it. Good to know he wasn’t lying about that part.” Alexander says without missing a beat. 

“Well my charm is one hundred percent genuine. Your eyes are absolutely stunning. The most beautiful hazel I have ever seen.”

“Oh,” Alexander says, surprise obvious in his voice, “You can see colour?”

André licks his lips, looking down at the table for a moment, before his eyes find Alexander’s again, “I suppose I’ve given myself away already, haven’t I?” He muses, “I met my soulmate a few years ago, but she’s passed away since.”

Alexander’s heart constricts at those words, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I’ve had plenty of time to lay that part of my life to rest.” André says in response, his words light, “I suppose I should be apologizing, I hadn’t intended to bring it up just yet. Doesn’t seem like a first date conversation.”

“Please don’t apologize. We’re getting to know each other, and I want to know all about you.” 

André leans forward a little, his eyes steady on Alexander’s, “And I want to know all about you too, Alexander.”

Dinner is perfect. John André is perfect, but there’s still that little voice in the back of his head that says, perfect or not, John André isn’t Thomas Jefferson. 

Alexander finally allows himself a moment to forget about why his life is such a shit show, and just enjoys the moment. He puts aside the worry of his bank bill, his worry about Thomas, and his worries about his own soulmate. He listens as André tells stories of his time in the army, talks about college in London, and about how he ended up working at the hospital. He is engaged, charming, interested, and when Alexander speaks, André’s full attention is on him, completely enraptured. 

It’s nice, and easy, and by the time they finish dessert, Alexander hates that their time together is coming to an end. 

It’s as he watches André grab the check that Alexander finally gets the courage to say what he’s been thinking since he first agreed to this date in the first place. 

“Uh, I don’t know if Laurens mentioned it, but I’m not really looking for anything too serious right now. Things in my life are kind of, well, they’re complicated right now. And you seem like a really great guy, like I think you might be perfect, but I just don’t know if I can do anything more than friendship right now.”

André signs his name on the check with a flick of his wrist, before he looks back up at Alexander. “Laurens did mention it, and I’m willing to take things as slow as you’d like. If all you want right now is friendship, then we can just be friends. I think you’re intelligent and interesting, and I’d love to have you in my life, even if it’s just as friends.”

“You literally are the perfect man, John André.”

André smiles at that, and Alexander doesn’t hesitate to smile in response. 

They leave on excellent terms with André promising to call him as soon as he’s available to get dinner again. Alexander walks back to his car in silence - enjoying the cool D.C. wind on his neck. 

As soon as he finds his way back to his car, he climbs into the driver’s side seat and shuts the door behind him. It’s a little after eight, which means he still might be able to make drinks. 

He pulls his phone from his pocket, typing out a message to Thomas. 

To Thomas (8:09 PM): Hey what bar at you at?

As soon as his message says delivered, it shows that Thomas has read it. He waits a moment, sees the little bubble in the corner pop up to tell him Thomas is typing, and then it disappears. He waits, staring at the screen for the message to come through. 

Only it doesn’t. 

He sits there for ten minutes, before he realizes it. Thomas wasn’t going to respond. He was leaving Alexander on read. 

So he does the only rational thing he can think of, and he selects Madison’s number from his contacts and calls him instead. 

When Madison picks up, Alex can hear the noise of the bar behind him. There is music playing, people talking, and the sound of laughter in the background. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Madison, Thomas invited me out for drinks earlier but he didn’t give me the name of the bar.”

Madison is silent for a moment, and Alex can hear quiet whisperings on the other end. After a moment, his voice returns, “Hey, yeah, we’re down at The Passenger.”

“Okay cool, I’ll be there in a bit.” Alexander says, and then he tacks on, “Thomas is still there, right?”

Madison sounds amused when he replies, “Yeah, he’s here. And he’s, uh, eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

Alex is quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what the fuck that means, before he repies with, “Okay, see you soon.”

He hangs up the phone, backing onto the street, and praying that this isn’t the worst idea he’s ever had. (Because, for some reason, it sure feels like it is.)

Alexander gets to The Passenger within fifteen minutes. He enters the bar, the smell of alcohol and sweat greeting him like a slap to the face. It takes only a second to find Thomas and his table, and it’s because of Lafayette. The man’s laugh is echoing through the bar, high and loud and drawing the attention of everyone close to him. 

Alexander sees Thomas, who’s facing away from him, and he starts in that direction. He makes eye contact with Madison, who simply raises an eyebrow at him, before he drops into the seat next to Lafayette, who happens to be sitting across from Thomas. 

“Alex, dear, you made it!” Lafayette says as soon as he sits down, throwing an arm around his shoulder, “You must fill me in on the date. How was it?”

Alex manages a smile, even with the eyes of several Republican Senators on him, and looks at Thomas. The man doesn’t meet his eyes. 

It throws him off his game a little, the way that Thomas seems to be trying so hard to look anywhere but at Alex. He brushes it off and turns his attention back to Lafayette, “It was good, really good actually. John wasn’t lying when he said André was charming. Maybe it’s the accent, but everything that comes out of his mouth sounds like the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

“André is a good man, Alexander, you could do much worse. Are you going out again?”

“Yeah, he’s supposed to call so we can get dinner again.” He doesn’t mention that it’s strictly as just friends for the time being. 

“I am so happy for you, my dearest Alexander. You deserve all the happiness the world has to offer.” Lafayette says, voice soft and slurred. 

His eyes glance to the several empty beers in front of Lafayette, but before he can mention his friend’s lightweighted-ness, Thomas pushes away from his seat and stands up. Alexander looks up at him, and Thomas finally looks back at him. 

The man’s face is strikingly blank. He doesn’t look mad or annoyed, but rather it’s like someone has wiped all traces of emotion from his face. It’s a mask of blankness, of coldness, and it sets Alexander even further on edge. 

He wants to ask, wants to beg to know what he did, but as he opens his mouth to say the words, Thomas walks away. 

Alexander blinks, watches the way he disappears from view and sighs. He leans back in his seat, Lafayette oblivious beside him, and turns to face the rest of the table. 

It’s then that his gaze finds Madison’s and the man raises an unimpressed eyebrow, lips pressed in a thin and unamused line, before he looks away. 

Lovely. 

It’s later, when Thomas is still gone and Alex has stolen a few sips of Lafayette’s beer, that he decides to hunt the man down and figure out who exactly pissed in his cereal that morning. 

Finding Thomas is rather easy, and Alexander drops down into the seat next to him at the bar without saying anything. 

Thomas glances at him from the corner of his eye before he speaks first, “If your date with the perfect John André went so well, why the fuck are you even here?”

Alex feels his hackles rise at the harsh biting tone of Thomas’s words. He reels back, hurt by the unexpected coldness, “_ Excuse _ me?”

“Why the fuck did you even come here, Alexander?”

“Because I like spending time with you? Because I like hanging out with you?” Alexander bites back as soon as the words leave Thomas’s mouth, “Is that so hard to believe?”

Thomas takes a sip from his glass and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Could have fooled me,” before he leans forward and rests his hands against the bar. 

“Do you think I’d come here, where I’m surrounded by people that literally hate me if I didn’t want to see you? Newsflash, Thomas, you and Lafayette are the only two people at that table that I can stand. And I didn’t even know, for sure, if Lafayette was coming, so don’t pretend like I’m here for any other reason than to see you.”

He sees Thomas’s frown deepen in the corners and the man blinks a couple of times before he shrugs. 

Alexander can feel the brush off, but powers through anyway, “Are you going to tell me why you’re so pissed at me? Did I do something that I’m unaware of?”

Thomas - honest to God - has the audacity to roll his eyes, “Nope.”

Alexander doesn’t know if the response is a reply to his first question or his last one. He feels off center again, and he doesn’t like how quickly things between them are spiraling. The whole point of everything is that he’s desperate to keep his friendship with Thomas. It’s the only reason he ended up going out with André tonight, and it’s the only reason he’s at this Godforsaken bar when he can’t stand the majority of the people he’s with. 

He’s desperate, so he finds the only thing he can think of, and runs with it. 

“That night you took me home from the bar, you told me that if you ever pissed me off I should tell you. Because you liked that we were friends, and you didn’t want to ruin it over something stupid. The same is true now, Thomas, if I did something to upset you please just tell me. I’m sorry if I did something, and I’m sorry that I don’t know what I did, but please just tell me what it was. I like having you in my life, and I don’t want to lose our friendship. Just tell me whatever I did that upset you.”

It's his words that gets Thomas to turn around to look at him. His face is defeated, a textbook look of misery, and he simply shakes his head. 

“That was very poetic, but you didn’t do anything wrong, Alexander.” He says, voice quiet, “It’s just been a long day.”

It seems like a copout. Like something Thomas is just saying to put Alexander at ease. Like it’s just something to say so he doesn’t actually have to talk about what’s actually on his mind. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Thomas’s words are polished and put together, like he hasn’t drank very much. His eyes are looking at Alex, a little sad and a little tired, and then he gives him a shrug, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have taken a bad day out on you.”

“It’s okay,” Alexander says, even though he doesn’t think it is, “Are we good then?”

Thomas bumps his shoulder against Alexander’s, a half smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes, “Yeah, we’re good.”

Alexander looks back at Thomas, slumped over the bar and defeated, and can’t help but wonder where exactly he fucked up and how the fuck he was going to fix it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:
> 
> \- as you might have noticed, I added a few more chapters to this fic. in case you're curious they are for 1) Thomas's POV chapter, 2) the epilogue, 3) a chapter dedicated to explaining the symbolism of this fic.  
\- also I know I keep saying, "things move pretty fast from here on out," but let me just say it again. Because we get some SERIOUS character development (and 2 revelations) next chapter. just saying.  
\- hints for next chapter: an apology, too much wine, and Eliza.  
\- come talk about your headcannons for this fic on my Tumblr (writtenrevolution), ask me questions, or just scream at me.


	19. "not" a date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is over 10k and I'd like to apologize in advance, because yikes it was not supposed to be that long. 
> 
> also the sentences in italics are spoken in French :)

When he wakes up the next morning, Alex is cocooned in his bed and surrounded by thick blankets. The heat is heavy and comfortable, stretching across him and warming him all the way down to his fingertips. He blinks blearily at the sun that falls on his face, just beginning to pass through the curtains, and he can assume it is no later than eight. 

His phone is lit up on the bed next to him, and Alexander can barely make out the name that prefaces a new text message. He looks at it blearly, the words squiggling and running together as he squints at it. Alex blinks twice, clearing the dazed sleep from his eyes, before he reaches out with slow hands to move the screen closer. 

From John André (7:36AM): Please forgive me for messaging you so early, but I don’t leave for NY until eleven, so maybe we could get breakfast? I’d like to see you again before I leave. 

Alexander can’t help his natural inclination to smile at the message, both on account of it being André and because of the formality of the text. It’s a trait he’s noticed is ingrained in André’s personality, to be formal and professional at all moments, and it’s a trait that Alexander has already found himself becoming endeared too. It’s cute, he thinks, the way André holds himself to such accountable measures. And, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t the cherry on top of such a perfect man. 

But perfect or not, he is still not Thomas. But André will never be Thomas, and for all his good qualities - for all his charm and good looks - he still manages to fall a little flatter. But Alexander knows that’s not André’s fault, the man is about as close to perfection as one can get. The problem is that Alex has discovered a little too late that his affections are held in the leather gloved grasp of someone not interested and not available. So even though André might not be Thomas, Alexander is really trying to not hold that against him.

He types out a reply underneath his comforter, still basking in the warm body heat that radiates off him, with quick fingers and the curve of a smile on his lips. 

To John André (7:38 AM): I would love nothing more. How about we meet at Ted’s around 8:30? So you can make your flight early?

If Alexander thought André couldn’t get anymore perfect, he’s proven wrong when the man replies in half a second. Maybe it’s need for stimulating conversation or some other deep rooted issue, but he appreciates people that reply fast. Whether it’s an email or a text or returning a phone call, the sooner they reach out, the happier Alexander is. 

From John André (7:39 AM): Sounds perfect, I can’t wait to see you.

Before Alexander can look into that, or overthink André’s obvious excitement at their breakfast plans, his phone buzzes again and the banner at the top of the screen makes him pause. 

He can only read the first few lines, but it’s enough to catch his interest. Alex presses the message before the banner can slide away, and it opens a new text message. 

From Thomas (7:39 AM): I owe you an apology. Work was a mess yesterday and I took it out on you, which wasn’t fair. I’m sorry, Alex. Let me make it up to you? 

He presses his lips in a thin line, replaying yesterday’s events in his head. Thomas had been off, cold and distant, in a way that reminded Alexander of before. Of before they were allies, before they were friends, and before they were whatever it is they are now. It was behaviour that he wasn’t used to, behaviour that he didn’t expect to see - not anymore at least - and he can’t help but wonder if he crossed that invisible boundary he’s been trying so hard to find. But Thomas had said they were good, that they were okay, and that Alexander hadn’t done anything wrong. 

He doesn’t know if it’s the truth, but he trusts Thomas enough to know that if he did cross a line, the man would tell him. 

Alexander bites into his bottom lip and shoots back a reply. 

To Thomas (7:41 AM): What did you have in mind?

The reply is instantaneous, like Thomas had been watching the screen waiting for Alexander to see it. Which is ridiculous, to be frank, because there is no way Thomas would do such a thing. Pathetically desperate actions like that are reserved for people like Alexander. 

From Thomas (7:41 AM): Dinner? On me. Wherever you want to go. 

His heart picks up a little, just a fraction, at the mention of dinner. It could be a date, he thinks, but banishes the thought from his mind as soon as it pops in. He knows it isn’t. It can’t be. Thomas has a soulmate, he has his one true match, and he’s simply trying to fix things between them. 

But still, the thought of dinner with him - alone - is almost too much. It’s another indulgence, in a long stream of them, that Alexander has no right to partake in. He shouldn’t, knows he shouldn’t, and yet he can’t help himself from replying with an affirmative. 

To Thomas (7:42 AM): Iron Gate at 7 tonight?

Again, the reply comes lightening fast. It makes his cheeks heat up a little, and his chest burn, when he reads the reply. 

From Thomas (7:43 AM): Sounds perfect. Can’t wait :-) 

Alexander rolls over and buries his face in the pillow. He doesn’t kow if it’s the ‘can’t wait,’ or the stupid little emoticon Thomas tacks on at the end -which is ridiculous, because no one under the age of forty puts a nose on a smiley face - that’s making his heart beat too fast in his chest. He knows he’s in over his head. Hell, he’s been in over his head for the past three months, but everytime he keeps remembering, Alexander finds out that he really doesn’t care. 

A sigh, too heavy and cynical, escapes his mouth and is muffled by the cotton blocking his view. He lays there, face first in his pillow, for a good moment.

Once he feels as though he finally has a grasp on his emotions, Alex drags himself out of bed and into the shower. 

The water is hot against his back, comforting him a little and helping to ease a little of the constant tension in his shoulders.. He makes quick time, for once, not wanting to keep André waiting. His hair gets shampooed and conditioned with the fancy French soaps that Adrienne had sent, and his body is scrubbed until his skin feels raw. 

He takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror and is barely able to refrain from winces when he gets a good look of his reflection. His skin looks dull, the bags beneath his eyes too dark, and his hair hangs down his back in a way that is not at all flattering. He rolls his eyes, reminding himself that it’s not a date so he doesn’t have to look good and then heads to his room to get changed. Alexander dresses in jeans and a plain tee shirt, doans a jacket to protect against the biting D.C. wind, and heads out the door. 

Ted’s is a nice little breakfast spot on 8th street, situated close to the Capitol. It’s a homey place, with a decent atmosphere for writing, that offers good food at a cheap price. Which, to be honest, is kind of exactly the type of establishment he prefers to frequent. 

He pulls open the door, the smell of bread and coffee greeting him as soon as he steps inside. He spots André in the back, his hair loose around his shoulders except for that single strand of white hair, tightly woven into a braid that hands by his shoulder. He’s dressed down but still put together, in jeans with a white henley and a pair of thick rimmed black glasses on his face. 

André looks up when Alex drops into the seat next to him, that easy and charming smile on his face, like he’s never been so happy to see someone before. 

“Alexander!” André’s accent is crisp, Alex’s name sounding foreign yet enticing on his tongue, “I’m so glad you could make it.” 

Alex’s hands are on the table, and he leans forward - towards the warmth that radiates from André’s smile and kind eyes. 

“I had to see you again before you get shipped off to New York.” Alexander says, offering a genuine smile in the direction of the man that is leaning towards him too.

“You say that as if they’re shipping me off to war, to be gone for months, but in reality I’ll be back before the weekend.” André’s grinning at him from over the table, the light grey of his eyes shining. 

And even though he’s known the man for two days now, Alexander is struck by an undeniable fondness for him. It’s been awhile since he’s dated, but Alexander remembers second dates being almost as awkward as the first one. When two people were still getting to know each other, not quite comfortable yet, and things were tense. But it’s not like that with André. Alexander feels as at ease as he did last night, content to bask in the glow of André's smile and laugh. He feels like he already knows him, like maybe they had known each other in a past life. 

Its with that in mind that Alex reaches across the table, letting André’s hand brush against his own, “That doesn’t mean I won’t miss your company when you’re gone.” 

André’s lips quirk up a little - into an even brighter smile - and his fingers close tightly around Alexander, “You always manage to say the right thing; I’m becoming convinced you’re the perfect one.” 

Alexander looks down at their hands, not quite intertwined but close enough, and smiles at him. 

Breakfast, like last night, is perfect. They end up splitting a breakfast sampler and there is too much food to go around. Alexander picks apart the tiny sandwiches on the tray, secretly pushing the bacon in André’s direction and gladly accepts it when the man pushes sausage back at him. 

They talk about work, because work is all Alexander has ever known, and André listens enraptured at every single thing that comes out of Alex’s mouth. It’s flattering, and charming, to have the man’s entire attention focused on him. He feels a little unworthy, in a way, because André could surely spend his time listening to more interesting people talk. 

The man is as receptive as last night, nodding and adding little tidbits of advice, and it makes Alexander feel appreciated in a way he hasn’t in such a long time. He appreciates André, appreciates the way he seems so interested and invested in the words that come from his mouth, and with each word André says, Alexander can almost imagine what it would be like to put himself back out there. He can imagine what it would be like to let André crawl beneath his armour and to break apart the pieces that hold him back. 

When breakfast is finished and Alexander has drank his weight in coffee, André walks him back to his car. Alex allows him to tangle their fingers together, and their hands swing between them as they walk through the city. The sun is rising higher in the sky with every step they take, peeking through the clouds and warming Alex’s face almost as much as Andre’s laugh. 

They reach his car too soon, André’s palm and fingers still curled against his own. Alex takes a deep breath and turns to face him, their intertwined hands hanging between them. 

“I suppose this is goodbye,” André says slowly, his gaze looking down at Alexander and making him feel like the only person on the planet. 

“I’ll see you as soon as you get back. We can go to that musical you keep talking about.” Alex says with a small smile, lightly poking at André with his free hand. 

André captures it in his own, turning so he’s holding both of Alex’s hands within his own. “Can I ask you a favour before I leave?” 

Alex blinks up at him. “Of course.” 

André is looking at him, the rising sun shining onto the light greys of his eyes, “I know things between us are set as just friends, but I was wondering if I could kiss you? Just a kiss before I leave, and please don’t feel as though you can’t say no. No matter what you say, I swear I will still come back and-”

“Yes,” Alexander says, interrupting André’s words, “Yes, you can kiss me.” 

He doesn’t know what made him say yes, but as André smiles at him, Alexander thinks that he made the right decision. 

André takes another step towards him, bending slightly, and then Alex feels the foreign press of lips against his own. His eyelids flutter, the press chaste but grounding, his eyes clenched tightly shut and he leans further into it. 

He can feel André’s hand come up to brush against his cheek, and the touch is somehow familiar and only spurs Alexander on. His mouth moves against André’s, just the gliding of lips against lips. 

His free hand reaches out, brushing André’s hair from his face, and it is smooth and like silk against his fingers. It’s then, in that cursed moment, that the first image appears behind his eyelids. 

An image of dark curls, of leather gloves, and of dark swirls of grey. He imagines what it would be like, to feel those curls beneath his fingers, those plush lips against his own, the feel of leather gloves moving along his body, dipping in every curve and crevice. 

The thought of Thomas’s touch on him, Thomas’s body against him, is almost too much to imagine. He pushes forward into André, into the image of Thomas behind his eyes, and an unholy groan leaves his mouth. Alexander can hear Thomas’s voice in his head, deep and raspy and too damn good to resist. He licks his way into André’s mouth, tasting of coffee and fruit, and it’s not enough. He’s burning with need, with desire, and he wants nothing more than to give himself over in his entirety. 

And then André breaks the kiss. He rests his forehead against Alexander’s, their breath intermingling as André’s hand cradles his face. It only serves to remind him of a touch so similar, the only difference being the absence of gloves. 

“You went somewhere there,” André whispers, his breath falling against Alexander’s skin in a way that makes him rock forward on his heels. “Somewhere that wasn’t with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex says, because he is. He likes André, but he’ll never like André as much he likes Thomas, and it hurts to see André come to that conclusion on his own, just because Alexander can’t control where his mind goes. 

André’s breath of laughter is warm against his cheek, “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You can’t choose love anymore than you can choose fate. It doesn’t take much to see that you’re stuck on someone else.” 

Alexander wants to tell him that it isn’t love, and that he’s never believed in fate, but then André is pulling back and putting a more appropriate distance between them. 

“I’ll call you when I get back.” André says, and it’s as much a promise as an unspoken question. 

“Yes,” Alexander says, “I’m going to hold you to that.” 

André leans in, giving him one last chaste kiss on the cheek, before he winks, “I’ll see you soon.” 

Alexander watches him leave, that white braid behind his ear blowing in the breeze, and then he gets in his car. 

He has a few errands to run, food to buy and dry cleaning to pick up, that he finally finds the time to take care of after breakfast. By the time he returns home, it’s nearing one and the sun is high in the sky. He pushes open the door to his apartment, blinking twice at the door knob when it opens without the key. Alex was almost positive that he had locked it before he left. 

He brushes the thought aside, figuring that he must have been too busy to remember, before stepping into the warmth of his apartment and shrugging off his coat. He takes a glance around the apartment, and his gaze catches on a grey jacket that sits on the couch that doesn’t belong to him. It’s then that he pauses, and the silence of his movements allows him to finally hear a voice in his apartment. 

It’s quietly murmured spoken French, and he steps closer to the kitchen, keeping his movements quiet. Before he even has the chance to step inside, his vision is gone and there are two small, cold hands cover his eyes. 

There is perfume in the air, a familiar smell that he can’t place. 

“_Y__ou’re lucky I don’t have a gun.” _

The words are spoken in French, the tone light and familiar, and Alexander pauses. As soon as the words leave her mouth, the hands blocking his view disappear and Alexander spins on his heels. 

His takes in the curve of her jaw line, the sparkling white of her smile, the untamable curls that are shorter than the last time he had seen her, and her dark - almost black - pupils. 

“Adrienne?” 

“_No, I’m Gilbert.” _ She says with an over exaggerated sigh before she giggles, “ _ Now, stop staring at me and give me a hug.” _

Before he can even find the words to respond, she’s launching herself into his arms, a squeal falling from her mouth as her hands wrap around his neck. Alex has to take a step back to keep them both upright, and then he catches a glimpse of Lafayette from the corner of his eye.

“_Did Lafayette use his key?” _Alexander whispers into her ear and Adrienne laughs. 

“_Of course, my dear, how else could we have snuck in? We wanted to surprise you.” _

“Should I be jealous?” Lafayette says from where he’s standing in the hallway that leads to the kitchen. There’s a fond smile on his face, and he looks exceptionally amused by the situation. 

“Never, my love, if anyone should be jealous it’s me.” Adrienne says without missing a beat, turning to give her soulmate a knowing look. “Now that our dearest Alexander has fallen in love, who is to keep me company?” 

Alexander sends a look of steel over Adrienne’s shoulder in Lafayette’s direction. 

“Hey don’t look at me like that, Adri is my lover, we have no secrets.” Lafayette says, raising his hands in a placating motion. 

“To be fair, my darling, Gilbert and Monsieur Jefferson are friends. Of course he was going to tell me that you’re head over heels for him! I knew you were bound to find happiness again, and I am so pleased that you found it with Monsieur Jefferson of all people. He speaks good French, you know. But, my dearest Alexander, you could have called and told me sooner. France is not so fair away when you have long distance calling.” 

He heaves in a deep breath at the mention of Thomas. “We’re just friends, Adri, Thomas actually has a soulmate.” 

“He has a soulmate?” Adrienne turns her gaze to Lafayette, sharp eyebrows pulling together, “Did he tell you about this, Gil?” 

Lafayette’s hands are in his pockets as he shakes his head, “No, my love, it’s one of the few things Thomas refuses to speak to me about.” 

“Well, we’ll talk about that later.” Adrienne winks at him, “For now, just let me look at you.” 

“As you wish,” Alexander smiles, letting her hands come up to cup his face. She traces a finger across his cheek, her dark lips pulled into a bright smile. “How are you so handsome, my Alexander? With those dark eyes, and that smile of yours. How have you not knocked this entire city of its feet yet?” 

“You’re too sweet to me.” 

“Nonsense, nonsense. Now, what are your plans for the day? It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, and I want nothing more than to spend the day with my lover and my friend.” 

Alex lets her push into another hug and she tucks her head under his chin as he continues, “I have dinner at seven, but nothing until then.” 

She pulls back to blink at him, “Dinner? With who?” 

He doesn’t meet her eye when he responds, “Thomas,” 

Her squeal of excitement almost deafens him. “Thomas? Where are you going, better yet, what are you wearing?” She looks down at his jeans and tee shirt, “Please tell me that’s not what you’re wearing.” 

“Uh, I haven’t decided.” 

“Dinner is a code word for date, so soulmate or not soulmate, you have to look your best. Now come, and let’s find you something that will make Thomas stop dead.” 

She grabs ahold of his hand, pulling him towards his bedroom. He sends a pleading look at Lafayette and the man simply grins, shooting him a thumbs up as Adrienne tugs on his hand. 

Adrienne, in all her loveliness, doesn’t approve of anything Alexander comes up with. At every outfit he shows her, she shakes her head, eyes rolling fondly, and mutters, “awful” under her breath. Eventually, he lets her have free rein of his closet, and settles himself on the bed beside Lafayette. The man is looking at his wife fondly, his smile wide and eyes glimmering, as he watches her tear through Alex’s wardrobe. 

“_Why do you have nothing decent? Good God, I thought we taught you better than this.” _

Lafayette laughs at her words, poking Alexander in the side, “You should let me do your hair.”

Alexander winces at Lafyatte’s finger between his ribs, “I think you’re both blowing this a little out of proportion. It’s just an apology dinner.”

“_N__on, my love,” _ Lafayette says, reverting back to his native tongue, “ _ He asked you out to dinner, that makes it a date.” _

_ “We both know it doesn’t,” _ Alexander interjects, determined to show them that it’s not a date. It’s an apology dinner because Thomas had been a dick. Thomas has a soulmate, he wouldn’t ask Alexander out to dinner for any reason other than to mend their friendship. 

“_A__drienne, my love, help me out here. Tell Alexander that he’s being an idiot.” _

She stops her insistent digging through his closet for a second, and looks up at Alexander. Then, in English, she says, “You’re an idiot.”

Lafayette chokes on his own laugh, falling back against the bed as the force of his laughter overcomes him. Alexander tries to fight back his smile, but Adrienne winks at him before turning back to his closet, and he simply doesn’t have enough fight in his body to take offense. 

“Date or no date, you should still look good.” Lafayette says, like the words are sage wisdom, “As us Lafayettes’ say, _ why not _?”

Alexander rolls over in the bed, looking at the pleading expression on his friend’s face, and heaves a great sigh, “Fine, fine, dress me up as you like. But I swear to God, you owe me.”

Lafayette’s grin spreads across his entire face, “_ To the bathroom with you. Brush your hair and then the great Marquis and his bride will perform a miracle by making you look half decent.” _

Alexander barely resists the urge to roll his eyes, marking this as his next terrible decision in the making, and allows Lafayette to drag him to the bathroom. 

When he’s finally allowed to look at himself in the mirror, more than an hour later, Alexander pauses at the reflection that faces him. He swallows painfully, and leans a little closer to the mirror. The reflected image is him, he’s sure of it, but Lafayette had somehow pieced Alexander together in a way that looked new, a way that looked put together. 

Alexander has never been self conscious, he simply didn’t have the time or energy to care what others thought of his personal appearance. But now that he’s looking at himself, looking at this reflection of himself, it's hard to believe he’s looking at the same person he saw in the mirror this morning. 

His hair is glossy and friz free, falling around his shoulders in gentle and lightweight strands. The constant puffiness beneath his eyes has vanished somehow (most likely on account of the cold spoons Lafayette had pressed against them), and his normally hazardous beard has been trimmed to resemble something more neat. 

_ “God,” _ Lafayette mutters from where he stands over Alexander’s shoulder, “ _ How am I so good?” _

He finds Lafayette’s eyes in the mirror and offers him a genuine smile, “Thank you.”

The man leans forward, pressing a kiss to Alexander’s cheek, before resting his chin on the man’s shoulder, “Come now, let’s see if Adri has found something for you to wear on this not-date.”

She had, indeed, found an outfit combination that she approved of. She shoves it at Alexander, her dark lips spread into a knowing smile, and ushers him back into the bathroom to change. He looks down at the black, white, and grey clothing she had given him and wishes he could see what colour they actually are. 

He changes quickly, slipping into the black pleated dress pants and white and grey striped shirt, before he shoulders on the black blazer. He turns to look at himself in the mirror, once more, and Alexander can admit that Adrienne and Lafayette might have actually pulled it off. 

Even in the constant black and white spectrum, Alexander looks good. He can still see the faults that make him who he is - the stress wrinkles on his forehead, the dark circles beneath his eyes - but he looks like the kind of man who would be worthy of Thomas Jefferson. 

He looks like the kind of man Thomas Jefferson would like. 

He shakes that thought from his head immediately, because even if he looks like the kind of man that Thomas might be interested in, he knows better. Thomas is off limits, as off limits as he’s ever been, and Alexander shouldn’t go into tonight with the idea that things are not what they are. 

They are just friends. This is just an apology dinner. Thomas has Martha, his soulmate.

He watches his own smile dip a little in the mirror, and rolls his eyes in response. None of his thoughts are new news, but the frown just serves as testament that Alexander is deluding himself into thinking things are more than what they are. 

Before he can get so deep into his own thoughts that he ruins his mood, Alexander pushes the thoughts away and steps out of the bathroom. 

Lafayette and Adrienne are exchanging hushed whispers in French, but their words stop as soon as the door opens and Alexander unveils the new outfit. 

Adrienne’s eyes open wide, her jaw falling open just a fraction of an inch. Lafayette winks at her before turning a familiar and blinding smile at Alexander. 

“_ You look simply marvelous.” _ Adrienne says, her hand intertwined with Lafayette’s, “ _ If he’s not in love with you already, this look is going to get you the rest of the way there.” _

“It’s really not like that,” Alexander tries, and fails, to convince her once more. 

She smiles at him before grabbing his hand and sitting him down on the couch, “Gilbert says it’ll take you thirty minutes to get to the restaurant, which means we have plenty of time for you to catch me up on your life.” Adrienne gestures at him, “_ Now talk.” _

It’s hours later that Alexander finally glances at his watch and realizes that he’s got to leave soon. He had gotten so caught up in telling Adrienne all that she had missed in the past eight months, that he had been distracted from the anxiety in his chest.. He had told her everything: from his soulmate, to the assumption bill, to Thomas, and everything in between. 

When the alarm on his phone goes off, he finally forces himself to stand from the bed. He takes a deep breath, unable to even imagine how things tonight are going to go. Alexander knows it's just dinner - a thing they’ve done together multiple times before - but he can’t help but feel as though something is different about tonight. He doesn’t know if its because of the Lafayettes, or because of his own inner turmoil, or because of André, but he knows something seems different. 

Which, being honest, is a terrible headspace to start the night with. Because things aren’t different. They aren’t any different than a week ago when he didn’t know about Martha being Thomas’s soulmate. Nothing is different. 

Now if only Alexander could actually believe it. 

Lafayette must be able to read the look on his face, because a broad hand comes to rest on his shoulder. He looks up into the man’s dark grey eyes that shine down on him with fondness, “Date or not, you’re going to have a good time. Thomas isn’t going to know what hit him.”

Adrienne nods from where she stands next to the bed, “_ My love is absolutely right. Oh, and before I forget, we’re getting drunk with Eliza tonight, so if you’re not preoccupied later, you should come and tell us all about your not-date.” _

She says, “_ preoccupied, _” with a truly awful wink. 

Alex smiles, although it feels less genuine than he wants, “Okay, sounds good. I’ll stop by once dinner is over.”

He walks past them, towards the hallway that leads him to the living room, but stops in the doorframe. 

“Go, Alexander. It’s just dinner.”Adrienne says and Alexander looks over his shoulder to smile at them. 

“Okay, I’m going to call a cab. Lock up when you leave.” And then he’s walking forward, feet dragging against the carpet, as he tries to quell the pointless anxiety that curls in his chest. 

The drive to the restaurant has Alexander waiting in tense anticipation. For whatever reason, and even though he keeps telling himself this is just an apology dinner, he can’t help but feel nervous. Yesterday had been a wreck. Thomas had been distant, and quite frankly, he had been a dick. 

And Alexander knows that’s the reason they’re getting dinner tonight. He knows that Thomas is trying to mend the rift between them, but he keeps wondering if it’s even worth trying to mend. 

Yes, he wants to be Thomas’s friend. Yes, he wants to do whatever it takes to keep Thomas in his life. That is, after all, the entire reason he had agreed to see André in the first place. Alexander was under the mistaken assumption that he could simply transfuse the crush he has on Thomas to André, and it has backfired horribly in his face. 

There was no way he could regret the decision because Alex would like to think André was bound to become a good friend, but the intention behind it was misguided. Going on dates with André and kisisng him wasn’t going to pawn off Alexander’s stupid crush on Thomas. This morning was proof that no matter how far he runs or how deep down he pushes it, his crush on Thomas isn’t something that is just going to float away, and it’s definitely not something that he can just transfer to another person. 

Which leaves him in a predicament. 

He can either pretend like things between Thomas and him are fine, pretend like he doesn’t care that Thomas is with Martha, and suffer in silence as they bask in happiness. Or, he can say fuck it all, and push Thomas out of his life before he has the chance to get hurt. 

It’s as he pulls open the restaurant door and spots Thomas sitting at the back table, that Alexander knows he doesn’t really have a choice in the matter. Thomas looks up when the bell above the door rings, and then he smiles. 

He looks at the man, in his stupid too bright white jacket (that he says he hates but keeps wearing) and his face lit up with that goregous smile, and knows there is no way he could ever push Thomas out of his life. Whether he likes it or not, his crush isn’t going anywhere. 

Which leaves him with option one: pretending.

Alexander drops into the seat across from Thomas and smiles in return. Everything might be falling to complete and utter shit around his shoulder, but for once in his life, Alexander isn’t going to run away from it. 

“Hi.” He says smoothly, cringing almost as soon as the words leave his lips because, honestly, he could have done better than that. 

“Hi, I’m glad you came,” Thomas says, and his expression is pleading. His lips are in a half pout, his eyebrows pulled together, “Also, you have to know how sorry I am for yesterday.”

That look Thomas is giving him makes his heart clench tight enough in his chest, that for a moment, Alexander seriously thinks he might be having a heart attack. It passes in a second, replaced with the sensation of a million butterflies flying in his chest, and he embraces the feelings. Because it feels good, and it makes him feel like he’s back in Nevis, flirting with Nadia from next door for the first time. 

His palms are sweaty and he’s one hundred percent sure there’s a flush on his face when he nudges Thomas’s foot under the table, “It’s okay. You were a massive dick, but I forgave you almost instantly. I really didn’t come here to make your apologize again, I just wanted free food. Plus, your company isn’t terrible.”

Thomas’s smile is back in an instant. That breathtaking, one million megawatt thing that is so bright and blinding that Alexander gets a little starstruck having it directed at him. “Good to know, although I was really being a dick. Work was kind of a shit show, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, so giving you free food is really the least I could do.”

It’s then that Thomas’s foot nudges him back. Alexander’s heart is in his throat, and he’s trying desperately to keep himself together. It’s not flirting if Thomas is with Martha, he reminds himself, no matter how much it seems like it, it’s not flirting. 

He looks back up at Thomas and sees his mouth moving, but Alex is so lost in his own thoughts that he has to shake his head and say, “Sorry, what?”

Thomas is grinning at him and his foot nudges just a little harder against Alexander’s before he repeats himself, “I asked about your date last night. With, uh, John’s friend - something André-”

“John André,”

“Right,” Thomas says, “How’d it go? I didn’t really get the chance to ask.”

Alexander shifts in his seat, feeling uncomfortable at the question. It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Thomas, but rather he’s not really sure what he’s supposed to say. The kiss this morning, and the fact that Alexander thought of Thomas during it, seems to prove that he can’t engage in a relationship with someone until he gets over this pathetic little crush he has. But he likes André enough not to make up some elaborate story to explain why Alexander simply has no interest in dating him - at least not yet anyway. 

So, when in doubt, he sticks to the truth. Or, well, the closest he can get to it. 

“It went really well. André is as charming and sweet as John had said he was, and we have a lot in common.” Alexander says, “We went out for breakfast this morning too. He’s a really great guy and I like spending time with him.”

Thomas’s lips dips for half a second before that same smile from before is back on his face. It passes so quickly that Alexander wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t so used to studying the man’s face. 

“That’s great, Alexander.” Thomas says, and his voice sounds genuine - which makes Alexander’s heart break just a little bit, “As long as you’re happy.”

The waitress interrupts them then, dropping off their drinks. 

Alexander blinks in surprise and Thomas shoots him a sheepish look, “You always get the same thing, so I went ahead and ordered our drinks.”

His heart does that weird twisty thing again and Alex can only take a deep breath and let the feeling pass. 

“So,” He says once the waitress has left and his heart has returned to normal, “How’s Martha?”

If Thomas is picking up on what Alexander is actually asking, he doesn’t show it. Instead he simply takes a sip from the sweet tea in his glass before shrugging, “She’s alright. She had to fly back to Virginia unexpectedly. Apparently her father-in-law caught a bad case of pneumonia and they had to rush him to the E.R.”

Alexander nods along, not really wanting to hear about Martha and her greatness, before Thomas’s words finally register. He blinks twice, sees the way Thomas fiddles absentmindedly with his straw, before he finally manages to reply. 

“I’m sorry, what?” And honestly, how is the best he could come up with?

“Yeah, it was kind of out of the blue. He’s going to be fine, though, they’re just lucky they caught it-”

“No, I mean, father-in-law? Martha’s married?”

Thomas blinks at him, “Uh, yes?”

“But-I-She’s your soulmate.”

Thomas’s brows furrow even more and he stares at Alexander in confusion for a long moment, before a laugh escapes his mouth. It starts slow and then it turns into a deep and throaty chuckle. The man shakes his head, gloved hand coming up to run through his curls, before he looks back up at Alexander. “What makes you think Martha’s my soulmate?”

“You guys are really close. You flirt literally all the time. Plus you saw your bookshelf in colour, and Martha was in your office. 

This gets an honest sigh from the other man, “Do you know how many people come into my office? How many people borrow books from me? The answer is a lot.”

“But, you took her to the Gala as your date?”

Thomas’s eyebrow arches, “You took Lafayette. Does that mean he’s your soulmate?”

“No, but-”

“The guy I was going to ask already had a date, and I didn’t want to go alone, so Martha suggested that we suffer through the night together.”

Thomas’s words aren’t registering in his brain. “The guy you were going to ask?”

His eyebrow arches even higher and he looks at Alexander in exasperation. 

It’s impossible, but he has to ask. Alex leans closer, keeping his voice low, “Were you going to ask me?”

“I mean, yeah, we both didn’t want to go stag and we’re friends. But you said Lafayette was going with you before I had the chance to ask.”

“I would have gone with you.” Alexander says, before he even registers the words coming from his mouth, “I would have loved to be your date.”

Thomas gives him a smile, “Next time, then.”

“Next time.” The words are bittersweet in Alexander’s own mouth. He had the opportunity to be Thomas’s date and he ruined it before he even got asked? The thought of going, of spending all night in Thomas’s arms, is too much for him to even think about at the moment. 

Instead, he focuses on the more pressing revelation of the night. “Martha really isn’t your soulmate?”

“No,”

“And you’re not interested in each other, like romantically?”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his lips, “No, Alexander, we’re not. She’s married to her soulmate, Anne Henry.”

Alexander feels relief course through his body. Martha and Thomas aren’t soulmates, they aren’t dating, they aren’t together. 

“Oh,”

Thomas’s eyebrow arches in consideration, “You want to tell me why you’re so curious about Martha and me?”

He feels a flush rise to his cheeks, and prays the dark grey isn’t too noticeable, “No reason. It just seems like something friends should know about each other.”

The man doesn’t look convinced, but he thankfully doesn’t push. It’s a small relief, because Alexander really doesn’t know how he could possibly justify himself. 

Dinner with Thomas is perfect, and Alexander might go as far as to say it was better than dinner with André. It’s stupid that Alex is so relieved to hear that Thomas and Martha aren’t together, because even if Martha isn’t his soulmate, Thomas still has one. But the surprising revelation helps him relax a little more, laughing at Thomas’s stupid jokes and trying not to focus on the way their legs touch under the table. 

They talk while they eat. About Virginia, about Madison, about the latest election results. It’s nice, comfortable, and when the waitress asks them if they want dessert, Alexander really isn’t ready to let the night end just yet. 

He bumps his leg against Thomas’s, leaning forward, “Wanna split something?”

Thomas is looking at him with that look again, the one Angelica talked about, and it makes the butterflies in his stomach sore. 

“Sure, how about the chocolate cake?”

And, honestly, how could Alexander ever think John André was the perfect one?

He grins in response, turning to the waitress and delivering the verdict. 

They share the cake, both eating off the same plate, and Alexander can’t help the small groan that leaves his mouth when he gets a mouthful of rich, dark chocolate. Thomas’s eyes find his over the table as Alexander slowly pulls the spoon from his mouth, and he watches Thomas’s eyes drop to follow the motion. 

He sees the man swallow and Alexander can barely keep the grin off his face. 

One point for Alexander. 

Thomas gets the bill, just as he said he would, and - after making sure Thomas tipped at least 30% - he allows the man to walk him outside. 

“Did you drive?” Thomas asks as they step into the night. 

Alexander wraps his arms around himself as the D.C. wind whips around him. He regrets not thinking far enough ahead to bring a heavier coat. Eliza’s is only a couple blocks away, but he knows with the biting wind, it's going to be a long walk. 

“No, I took a cab. I’m supposed to head to Eliza’s and she only lives a few blocks away, so I’m just going to walk there.”

“In that? You’re going to freeze to death before you get there. I’m supposed to meet James, but I can drop you off on the way?”

Alexander looks up into Thomas’s gaze, “James is in the complete opposite direction. I promise, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re already shivering.”

Alexander bites down on his lip to keep his teeth from chattering, “Thomas, I’ll be fine. The weather hasn’t killed me yet.”

The man stares down at him in silent consideration, before he shakes his head. Alexander grins, thinking he won, but before he has the chance to gloat, Thomas is slipping out of his white jacket. 

He shakes it out, wrapping it around Alexander’s shoulders before the man can process the sudden heat consuming him. Thomas’s jacket smells like him - like ink and whatever cologne the man drenches himself in. It’s warm and woodsy, and Alexander immediately pulls it closer to him. As much as he wants to resist the coddling, he’s already warmer than he had been before. And, plus, it’s Thomas’s jacket. He checks the box next to, ‘another indulgence’ but doesn’t make a move to shrug it off. 

“Thank you,” Alexander says, and he means it. 

Thomas doesn’t meet his eyes when he responds, “You’re welcome.”

A wave of boldness - boldness he blames entirely on the wine from dinner - encourages him to take another step closer to the man, and reaches out to grab Thomas’s hand. It gets the man’s attention, his fingers curling around Alexander’s as his gaze drops back to Alex’s eyes. 

“For tonight, too. I had a good time with you.”

Thomas’s hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from Alexander’s eyes, but then his soft glove lingers a minute longer, brushing against the cold skin on Alex’s face. 

“Thank you for coming; I had a good time with you too.” Thomas whispers and his breath is warm against Alexander’s face. It reminds him of this morning, of André, and every reason that this intimacy between them is such a bad idea. 

Martha might not be Thomas’s soulmate, but he still has one. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a ride?” 

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Alexander whispers in response, and before he can chicken out, he raises up onto his tip toes and presses a chaste - but lingering - kiss to Thomas’s cheek. 

The man’s skin is smooth and warm beneath his lips, and Alexander is longing to move his lips to the right - it wouldn’t be more than an inch - and to finally kiss him. He knows that’s a terrible idea, though, and because he’s reached his quota for bad ideas in one night, he reluctantly pulls away. 

“I’ll see you at work on Monday?” 

Thomas’s eyes are dark and his gaze heavy as he looks back at Alexander. After a moment, he nods and replies - voice hoarse, “Yeah, I’ll see you then.” 

Alexander finally pulls all the way away from him, releasing Thomas’s fingers from his grasp and offers up a little wave, “Have a good night. Tell James I say hello.”

Thomas blinks a few times, before that smile appears back on his face, “You too, Alexander, and I will.”

He turns his back to Thomas, teeth digging into his bottom lip, as he pulls Thomas’s coat tighter around him, and starts the walk to Eliza’s. 

The walk to Eliza’s only takes him ten minutes. Thomas’s jacket is heavy and warm around his body, and Alexander seamlessly slips his arms into the armholes and pulls it tighter as he rounds the corner in front of Eliza’s apartment. He brings his hands to his face, attempting to warm his nose and lips, but it only serves to bring the scent of Thomas’s cologne with it. 

He swallows down the growing desire in his chest, and uses the elevator ride to try and gather his senses. It was suspicious enough that he was showing up wearing Thomas’s jacket, if he was a mess when his friends saw him, it wouldn’t take much to piece together just how invested Alexander is in the other man. 

Lafayette answers Eliza’s door with a knowing smile. He looks from Alexander, to the jacket that’s wrapped tight around him, and then back at Alexander. His lips are pressed into a small smile but he doesn’t mention the jacket. Instead, he simply opens the door and ushers Alexander inside. 

He drops down onto the couch next to Eliza and across from Adrienne, who immediately slides a glass of wine across the table towards him. 

_ “ _How was the not-date?” Adrienne asks as Eliza runs her fingers through his hair. 

Alex leans into the touch and rolls his eyes, “It was fine, very not date-ish.” He says, even though he’s not entirely convinced. 

Flirting? Check. 

Footsie under the table? Check. 

Splitting a dessert? Check. 

Offering Alex his coat? Check. 

It met all the requirements of a date, but there was one small issue. 

Thomas wasn’t into him. 

Adrienne and Lafayette both raise their eyebrows at his comment, trading a look with each other, and then she simply shrugs. 

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Adrienne says, and Alex is surprised for a moment that she’s letting it go so easily. That is until she gives him a knowing look and says, “Nice jacket, by the way.”

Alexander feels himself flush and leans forward to grab the wine from the table. He dumps it into his mouth, the taste bitter on his tongue, and pointedly does not respond. 

“Well, either way, you’re just in time.” Eliza says with a wink, her fingers still in his hair, “We were just about to watch a movie.”

He sinks closer to her, content to put Thomas out of his mind for the time being, and watches the opening credits as they play across the scene. 

It’s not even fifteen minutes later that Alexander looks up from the movie playing on the TV, to find Adrienne and Lafayette conjoined at the mouth. They’re going at it hard, Adrienne’s hands in Lafayette’s hair and Lafayette’s hands in Adrienne’s- Alex looks away quick and throws a piece of popcorn at them. 

“Jesus, guys, get a room.” He’s already seen more than enough of Lafayette, and he really doesn’t want to see Adrienne like that too. 

Adrienne breaks the kiss, her lips swollen and winks at Eliza and him, “Eliza, my dear, do you mind if we borrow your guest room?”

He hears Eliza’s small laugh from behind him and she shakes her head, “Feel free. Do try to keep it down, though, and throw the sheets in the wash when you’re done.”

Lafayette almost trips over his own feet in his efforts to get Adrienne to the guest room, and Alexander rolls his eyes fondly. They’re cute, he can admit, but he’d prefer to stay in the dark about what exactly they get up to in the bedroom. 

Eliza takes a sip of her wine, and Alexander can feel her eyes on him. Then, she leans forward and presses the power button on the TV. The only light is coming from the kitchen and the few candles burning around them. 

When he turns to Eliza, he sees her watching him with a curious expression. Damn, he had really thought he was going to get out of this without talking about Thomas. 

“So, you and Thomas had dinner?”

Alexander places his glass on the table and scoots down further in the seat, “We did.”

“And you had a good time?” Eliza asks, her tone innocent enough but Alexander’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I did.”

She nods, face pensive and considering, and then she looks back up at him, “And did you finally ask him out on a proper date?”

“It’s not like that.” Alexander says, for what has to be the hundredth time that night. 

“Are you oblivious, Alexander?” Eliza says, although her words hold no judgement, “Or are you purposely distancing yourself because of what happened?”

He looks up at her. 

“John told me about your conversation the other morning.” She continues on, placing her small hand on his thigh, “Do you really not see it, or are you so scared to get hurt again, that you’re blocking even the idea from crossing that big brain of yours?”

“Eliza, that’s not what-”

“Because if you were, I’d tell you that you can’t let what happened between us ruin something between you and him. He cares about you, Alexander, he cares about you so much. Everytime Thomas and I get lunch, or whenever he stops by the orphanage, you are one of the first things he talks about. And I know that what happened between us hurt you, and I know you’re scared to let yourself be vulnerable again, but you can’t use the past as an excuse to run from something that you want.”

Alexander’s voice is quiet when he responds, “I don’t even know if that’s something I want.”

“Have you thought about it?”

“I mean, a little bit, but not really. I usually just shove it all into a ‘do not touch’ box in my head.”

Eliza reaches for the full wine glass on the table and passes it to Alexander. He takes a long sip, watching as she grabs the spare notebook and pen that sit next to her. 

“What are you doing?”

She clicks the pen and turns back to Alexander. “We’re opening that box, Alexander, and we’re going to go through it all.”

And they do. 

It’s twenty minutes, and several glasses of wine later, that they have a working list of all the things Alexander has refused to think about for the past few months. 

They’re sitting close, a little too buzzed, and Alex glances at the paper in her lap. Eliza’s handwriting is cursive, beautiful and neat, and he reads through each word to make sure they’ve got it right.

  * Desire to be close
  * Attraction
  * “The Look”
  * MARTHA
  * Friendly? touches/cuddling
  * Madison and his shifty looks
  * Almost kisses
  * Drunk flirting
  * Feelings??

“Should we start at the top?” Eliza asks, her pen tapping against the place where she wrote Desire in loopy handwriting. 

Alex shrugs, “I suppose. I don’t really know how this works.”

“Well, I’ll say what’s written, and you just tell me what you think is important about it.”

“Fair enough.” He says, doubtful that this is going to resolve any of his issues. But, he thinks, if it makes Eliza happy, he’d do it all night. 

“Okay,” Eliza says, turning so Alexander can’t see the paper in her hands, “Your desire to be close to him.”

And Alexander honestly doesn’t know what to say. “Uh, well, whenever we hang out, I just want to be close to him. I want to touch him, I want to hold his hand, I want to have his attention on me.” He breathes, “I want to kiss him, I want him to want to kiss me.”

“Great, attraction?”

“He’s hot.” Alex says, “I don’t think there’s much more to hit on besides that.”

“But how does him being hot make you feel?”

He rolls his eyes, because aparently Eliza is a thereapist now, “It makes me feel like I would like to have sex with him. Moving on.”

She snorts but continues on anyway, “Next is, ‘The Look,’ which you had me put in quotation marks.”

“Right. Well, he has this look that he gives me. Angelica said it's the way you used to look at me. It makes me feel good, makes me feel like he’s interested in me, but it kind of confuses me. He looks at me like he’s studying me, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking, and it makes me want to tell him everything.”

Eliza nods, her eyes narrowing on the paper in front of her, “Okay, how about Martha?”

And where does he even begin with that one?

“I’m jealous of her. I was jealous the first time I saw them talking in the Senate, I was jealous when Thomas said he had dinner with her, and I was thrilled when he left dinner to come to the bar with us. I got jealous at the Gala when they were dancing together, and then I was convinced they were soulmates. Which, by the way, I found out that they’re not. Turns out she’s married.”

Eliza’s brow raises at the new information, “Married, really? How did we not know this?”

Alexander shrugs. “No clue.”

“Not important. Next is Friendly - with a question mark - touches slash cuddling?”

“He’s always touching me. I mean, I love it, obviously, but it makes me read into things between us. He kind of cradles my face, brushes my hair from my eyes, and it feels nice. It's the kind of touch, the kind of intimacy, that I haven’t had with anyone since you.” Alexander says, and his chest feels a little lighter at the admission. 

“Madison and his, uh, shifty looks?”

“He’s always acting like there’s something I don’t know. The way he phrases things, emphasises them, confuses the fuck out of me. He raises his eyebrows too much and it seems like he’s purposely trying to be a dick. It almost makes me wonder if he knows about my, uhm, crush. I think if he knew, though, he probably would have said something about it just to be an asshole.”

Eliza nods her head, like she totally agrees, “Almost kisses? You never told me you almost kissed.”

“About that,” He winces, “Sorry, it’s happened a few times now. It’s usually when he’s like cradling my face, and our mouths are so close that it would only take an inch to kiss. He never kisses me, though, just keeps staring at me. I never know what he’s thinking, hell I don’t even know if he wants to kiss me.”

“That might be a good thing to ask him.” Eliza interjects, her eyes knowing. 

“And that won’t happen anytime soon.” Alex replies, “What’s next, and are we almost done?”

“Almost there. Drunk flirting?”

“That first night when he came to Rocky’s with us, Angelica said he kept his hand on my thigh, and then he kept calling me all these pet names too. And then when I picked him up from the bar, he was flirting hard, which I figured was just because he was a flirty drunk. He said he didn’t want to sleep in my bed without me, and then he implied that there were more fun things to do to my ass then kick it. He also said I was beautiful and that he thought I was perfect.”

Eliza’s eyebrows are arched too high off her forehead, but she crosses the item from the list without comment, “Last one: feelings, which you had me put two question marks after.”

And, once again, Alexander doesn’t know what to say. It’s strange, he thinks, that Thomas can render him speechless. There is nothing that Alexander can’t find something to say about, but when it comes to his feelings for Thomas, he doesn’t know what the fuck to say, or where to even start. 

So he picks a place and runs with it, and once the words start coming, they don’t stop, “I don’t even know, Eliza. I just fucking like him? I like spending time with him - even if we’re doing nothing but sitting in his office and working quietly. I like when his attention is focused on me, and I hate when it’s not. I want to kiss him, and I want to sleep with him, but it’s more than that. I want to talk about his shitty politics, I want to ask him about his day after work and tell him about mine. I want him to hangout with us, with you and Lafayette and Angelica and John and everyone. I want to be able to hold his hand without question, I want to listen to his laugh. When I have a bad day, he’s the person I want to go to. I don’t want him to want anyone else, I don’t want him to date anyone else. I want to lay with him until I fall asleep and then I want to wake up next to him in the morning, and I want to hear him say that he lo-”

He cuts his rant off when that word appears before his eyelids. That word, the word he’s only used in this sense once before, that word that held so much meaning behind it. He’s been running from it for so long, but now that the word is there, Alexander knows he can’t deny it. 

He’s been so confused by what he was feeling, but the answers been right before him the entire time. 

Eliza’s looking at him, a dreamy look on her picturique face, and her smile is too wide, “What do you want to hear him say, Alexander?”

It’s terrifying to admit it to himself, let alone admit it outloud, but the words are pressing against his tongue, demanding to be finally acknowledged. 

So he takes a deep breath and says, “I want to hear him say he loves me too.”

Eliza’s squeal of happiness breaks him out of the spiral of his thoughts. “You love him!” 

“Fuck me.” Alexander says, the words too new and fresh in his mind, “I think I do.”

Holy fuck, he’s in love with Thomas Jefferson. 

“You have to tell him, Alex.” 

“What? No, I can’t.”

Eliza’s brow furrows, “Why not? You love him, and I’d bet my ass that he loves you too.”

“Because he has a soulmate, Eliza, and so do I.”

She takes a deep breath, her lips spread into a thin line, “I know you have this idyllic soulmate fantasy, but how long has it been since you’ve seen a new colour?”

He swallows, “A long time.”

“I know you’re scared you’re going to get thrown out again, but you said it yourself, Thomas doesn’t date someone just because they’re his soulmate. If Thomas loves you, it doesn’t matter that he has a soulmate or not. If he loves you, he’s going to love you regardless of colour or fate. Which means you can let your guard down a little, and you can try to love him regardless of that too.”

And she has a point. For so long, he’s been afraid of getting involved with someone that wasn’t his soulmate - because as much as he hates to admit it, Eliza leaving him had affected him beyond measure. But Thomas was different. Thomas is as afraid of soulmates and what they mean as Alexander is. Which means if there’s anyone worth trying again with, it’d be Thomas. 

Plus, it helps that Alexander is already in love with him. 

He drains the last of his wine in an instant, wincing at the taste, and then looks back into Eliza’s eyes. They are kind and gentle, reflecting her personality perfectly, and it gives Alexander a little more confidence. 

He doesn’t want to lose Thomas, but Eliza is proof that he might not.  
  
The thing between them had ended messy, with tears and slammed doors and a broken engagement, and look at how far they have come. 

He’s in love with Thomas, and soulmates or not, he can’t let the opportunity pass him by. 

Alexander nods once. “Okay.”

Eliza’s brow arches higher, “Okay?”

“As John once, so eloquently put it, fuck it all. Fuck fate and fuck soulmates.” Alexander says with a conviction he’s finally starting to feel, “I have to tell him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this history  
\- Adrienne is a really interesting historical figure, [ here's ](https://www.lmelliott.com/lauras-blog/lafayettes-love-adrienne)a blog post about her that ripped my heart out.  
\- I love John André and he deserved so much better. [here's](http://dev.ushistory.org/march/bio/andre.htm) a link telling his story and tragic end, and if you don't believe me that he was charming and brilliant, [here](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0896) is a letter that Hamilton wrote to John Laurens about him. 
> 
> And a few notes
> 
> \- Alexander was originally going to figure it out when he was with André, but it's important that it happened with Eliza, because symbolism, you know?  
\- the jacket is back!!! hint, hint.  
\- also omg can u believe he finally admitted it?? only took him 19 chapter.  
\- standard endnote: tell me what u think or I'll never post again ;)  
\- hints for next chapter: get your umbrellas y'all, its about to storm.


	20. an introduction to heartbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes

“I love you.” Alexander says, his eyes wide and his voice confident. He looks at the man in front of him, stares into those wide eyes reflected back at him, and holds his breath. 

One second. 

Two seconds. 

Three seconds. 

Then he rolls his eyes and leans forward to rest his head against the mirror in front of him. Fuck, was he thirteen years old again? Who even practiced love confessions in the mirror anymore? Insecure people and cowards, he supposes, and he knows he meets both the criteria. 

He doesn’t know why his revelation the night before was so shocking, why it made him feel completely off his game, but he is one hundred percent off of it. He had wooed Eliza like it was the easiest thing alive, wrote love letters until she fell for him, and yet he couldn’t suck up his pride enough to just tell Thomas how he felt?

It was kind of pathetic, although Alex really shouldn’t be surprised. 

His pity party is, thankfully, cut off by the ringing of his phone. Alexander doesn’t bother looking at the caller ID, just presses accept and holds it up to his ear. 

“Hamilton speaking,”

“I know who you are, dumbass, I was the one who called you.” Hercules says on the other end, his voice amused and exasperated. 

Alexander grins at himself in the mirror, “Shut up, I’m used to answering my work phone.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Hercules responds with a slight laugh, “What are you doing today?”

He looks at himself in the mirror, eyebrows drawing together, because he knows there’s no way he can tell Hercules he’s practicing his love confession to Thomas in the bathroom mirror. If John caught wind of that, Alexander would never live it down. 

So, instead, he settles on, “Nothing, really. I’m supposed to meet up with Angelica for lunch later, but nothing until then.”

“Great, then you wouldn’t mind dropping into the shop for a moment?”

“Uh,” He says, “I guess not, but can I know why?”

Hercules’ chuckle greets him through the phone, “Yeah, of course. I got inspired the other day and tried out a new stitch pattern. It's in your measurements so I need you to try it on, and if it fits you can consider it an early birthday present.”

“You’re too good to me, Herc. I’ll drop in around 11? That should give you time before I have to meet Ang.”

“Sounds good, see you then, Alex.”

“Later, man.” He says, before hanging up the phone. 

His eyes catch the two new messages on his home screen, and Alex quickly swipes them open. 

From John André (10:39 AM):  _ One attached image _

From John André (10:39 AM): Now that’s what I call a good view. 

Alexander looks close at the photo, sees its a picture of the sun rising over the Brooklyn Bridge. The sun streams down in hues of white and grey, and when Alexander remembers that André can see the view in full colour, he feels tendrils of jealousy spiral deep in his gut. 

They’re cut short a second later when Alexander is reminded that, yes, André can see colour, but he’d also lost the most important person in his life. He had gotten colour, but it had cost him. Before his thoughts can get too depressing, Alexander shakes his head and types out a response. 

To John André (10:41 AM): I’m so jealous!! You better eat at O’Brien’s pub. Best place in all of New York. 

He pockets his phone, throwing his hair up into a hazardous bun, and returning to his bedroom. Alex throws on a shirt, stopping when his eyes catch on the white jacket that sits at the edge of his bed. He had stumbled in from the cab last night, Thomas’s jacket warm around him, and then had fallen into bed with it on - still half drunk. He winces a little when he remembers the way he had curled himself around the jacket, like it was Thomas himself, and dozed off with it wrapped tightly around him. It was stupid, and Alexander would have to get it dry cleaned before he even considered giving it back. 

Alexander rolls his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets, because honestly it’s ridiculous. He gets he’s in love and everything, but good God, it was unbelievably embarrassing. 

He walks out his apartment door without sparing a glance back, and tries to ignore the way his cheeks feel unusually hot. 

When he enters to Hercules’ shop, Alexander is immediately pulled into a tight hug. He hugs back, feels Hercules’ too big muscles under the clean cut fabric of his suit and feels a laugh get pulled from his throat. 

“Look at you,” Hercules says, pulling back but keeping his hands on Alexander’s shoulders. He’s smiling, but his eyebrows pull together as he looks at Alex’s rumbled clothing, “Why did you think it would be a good idea to wear that?”

Alex rolls his eyes, exasperation weighing heavy in his smile, “What is it with everyone trying to give me fashion advice? I’ve dressed like this since college, you all should know that this is the best it gets."

“But you have so much potential, Alex.” The man says with a long suffering sigh, before his hand tightens a little on Alex’s shoulder and he ushers him into the fitting area. 

The jacket, even in the black and white spectrum, is beautiful. It’s a dark grey suit, sewn with light grey string, and a white stitch pattern on the lapels. Alexander slides his arms in, pulling it up further with a roll of his shoulders, and then allows Hercules to fasten it in the front. Instead of a button in the front, it’s a thin metal chain that hooks to the opposite side. 

“Interesting suit. It’s very unique; I like it.”

The man looks up from where he’s carefully placing pins around Alexander’s midsection, and smirks, “I’m glad you think so. Now, hold still.”

Alexander wills his body to quit fidgeting, not looking at Hercules as he stabs pins too close to Alex’s sides. The room around them is quiet except for the quiet inhale and exhale of Alexander’s breath, and the sound of Herc’s pen against the paper. 

“So,” Hercules says after a long moment of silence, “How’s Thomas?”

The mention of Thomas, so suddenly and without preamble, makes Alexander jump. The sudden movement makes Herc’s pin slip and Alexander winces as it pokes him in the side.

“Shit, ouch, watch where you put those things,” Alexander says, not bothering to look at the smirk on Hercules’ face, “And did you purposely make this jacket so I’d come in and you’d have the chance to interrogate me? I should have known Eliza wouldn’t be able to keep this to herself.”

“She did tell me, yes, but that’s not why I made this jacket. I got inspired by the shirt Thomas was wearing at the bar that night he came to Rocky’s with us, and I guess I just had you in mind when I made it.” Hercules says as he continues jabbing pins into the suit. 

“Oh,” He says, because he doesn’t know what else to say to that. Hercules had made something with Thomas in mind, and it just happened to turn out to be Alex’s exact measurements? He’s not one to believe in signs, but sometimes the world is just too damn obvious. 

Hercules finishes up surprisingly fast, stitching the lapels just a little more before he finds satisfaction and declares it finished. 

Hercules wraps it in a white garment bag before shoving it into Alex’s chest, “Take good care of this, okay? I made it special.”

Alexander only grins and shoots him a wink on the way out. 

When he gets to D.C. Harvest, a nice little place with an amazing brunch, Angelica isn’t there yet. He gets a table by the window and stares out at the passing cars, listening to the steady hum of traffic.

He doesn’t know what to expect from this lunch. Angelica had simply texted him and asked if he was down to get food at Harvest, and Alexander had said yes. He hasn’t seen her since their previous dinner, when she interrogated him about Thomas, and he misses her. Alexander has his fingers crossed that this lunch is just about business, about getting his bank bill passed, but now that he knows Eliza told Hercules about his revelation, he can’t help but wonder if there’s anyone in their friend group that doesn’t know. 

He can’t help but remember Angelica’s words from last time, sharp and a little condescending. 

_ “I’m not here to yell at you, or tell you that you’re being an idiot. I think we both already know that what you’re doing is stupid,” _

_ “He’s handsome and he’s charming, and things seem like they’re different now. You think he’s different now, but he’s the same Thomas Jefferson that you couldn’t stand two months ago.” _

_ “He is the same man you knew before. He might seem different and he might act different, but under it all he is still the same guy. He is still capable of what he’s done before; he still has his vices and his secrets.” _

As soon as he thinks about whatever Angelica is going to say in response to the newfound revelation that he had last night, Alexander has to press his hands against his eyes to keep the headache at bay. When the waitress drops by the table, he doesn’t hesitate to order bottomless mimosas. It’s noon on a Sunday, but he’s going to need it. 

He gets two drinks in when the door to Harvest opens, and Angelica walks in. 

It surprises him how put together she always is. Even on her worst day, she is a million times more effortlessly professional than Alexander has been in his entire life. 

Even today, on a Sunday when he knows she isn’t working, she looks beautiful. Her hair is falling around her shoulders in perfect curls, her pantsuit speckled dark grey, and her white blazer pressed to perfection. 

She smiles when she sees him, walking towards him gracefully in the stilettos that she wears, and smoothy sitting in the seat across from him. 

“Alexander,” Angelica says her eyes finding the mimosa in front of him, “How are things?”

He looks from the raise of her eyebrows, to the quirk of her lips, and deflates in his seat. “Jesus Christ, is there anyone that doesn’t know?

“About you and Thomas? No, we all know. Eliza sent it in the group chat last night.”

He sinks a little lower in his seat, wishing he had thought to down a few more mimosas before she arrived, and prepares himself for her emotional beatdown, “Let me have it, then. Go ahead and tell me how this is probably the worst idea anyone has ever had, because I already know it is. I know this probably takes the cake for most insane decision in the history of my life, but I’m sure you’d like to tell me yourself.”

Angelica’s lips press into a thin line, “Anything else you want to assume I’m going to say?”

“I think that’s about it.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Well, now that you’re finished assuming, I can tell you what I was actually going to say. Yeah, it might be a really shitty idea, but if you’re happy, I’m happy. So I say, go for it.”

He blanches. “What?”

Out of everything he assumed she was going to say, that was not on the list. 

“I mean, you’re already invested in him. You either get hurt going for it, or you get hurt not going for it. At least this way, you are the one that decides.”

It takes him a second to comprehend her words, and when he does, Alexander is touched beyond measure. For Angelica, self proclaimed hater of Thomas Jefferson, to give her approval - albeit in a roundabout way - was something Alex had never expected. It soothes a bit of the lingering anxiety in his chest, and makes him feel like if things work out between Thomas and him, he might be able to add the man to their friend group without Angelica eviscerating him. 

“But,” Angelica says and Alex prepares himself for the worst. “If he hurts you, I reserve the right to beat his ass.”

Alexander laughs, because it’s such an Angelica thing to say, and when the waitress interrupts them with another mimosa and to take their orders, Alexander feels a little less stressed than he had before. Maybe, just maybe, things might work out. 

When the waitress disappears again, their orders written on her notepad, Angelica directs the conversation back to more pressing issues: the bank bill. 

“We have enough votes to pass the House easily, but I met with Speaker Muhlenberg j ust to double check. I was surprised he was so willing to compromise, given his Republican standing, but he seemed sympathetic to our cause. The Senate is another story, though. MacCay is supposed to be meeting with the other lameducks on Thursday to see if they’re willing to vote in favour, but there’s nothing more we can do until then. There’s no way we’ll get the standing Republican votes with Madison blocking it, so it’s either lame ducks or it dies on the floor.”

It’s nothing he didn’t already know, but the reminder of Madison makes him run his fingers through his hair and groan, “Any chance you know why Madison is making it his fucking life mission to make me miserable?”

“I don’t.” She says with a tilt of her head, “But you should try and relax. There’s nothing more we can do until Thursday, and even then, dad still has to bring the bill to the floor for debate. With a majority Republican Congress, I doubt we can get debate closed for days at the very least - you know how they like to talk and repeat the same garbage points over again.”

“I just,” He shrugs, “I feel helpless not doing anything else.”

Her hand reaches across the table and lays against his, “There is nothing else to be done, Alex. Just try to enjoy the free time for a bit, yeah?”

His hand curls against her own, and Alex looks up to smile, “Yeah, okay. I’ll try.”

They leave brunch an hour later, Angelica walking him outside. The wind pulls at her curls, only serving to make her look even more perfect than usual. Like a model on the runway. 

“I love you, you know that right?” Angelica says as she pulls him into a tight hug. 

Her perfume smells like cinnamon and spice, and he smiles against her shoulder. 

“Yeah, Ang, I know.”

She kisses his cheek, chaste and warm, before pulling away. 

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything from MacClay.” She says as she’s walking away. She stops for just a moment to turn and look over her shoulder, and then Angelica says, “Good luck, by the way. With Thomas."

And then she’s walking away again, the sound of her heels clicking on the sidewalk, and Alexander can only smile after her. 

Sunday afternoon passes in the blink of his eye, and when Monday rolls around, Alexander almost calls in. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Thomas, because he honestly wants nothing more, but after the cheek kiss and ‘I’m in love with him’ revelation from Saturday night, Alexander doesn’t know how to act around him. 

He decides, when he’s getting ready that morning, that it’s vital to his cause to look put together and enticing. Because if he’s going to tell Thomas Jefferson of all people that he’s in love with him, he’s going to look damn good when he does it. So he washes his hair, adds the serum Adrienne had given him, and dresses in black pants with a white button up. He considers putting on the jacket Hercules had given him, but after he remembers the man’s request that he keep it pristine, Alexander simply grabs it - still wrapped in the garment cover - and brings it with him. 

He can put it on at work after he’s had his coffee. No need ruining a perfect, new suit jacket by spilling 3$ coffee on it. 

When he gets to work, he hangs the jacket up in the small attached closet, and decides that - until he sees Thomas - there is work to do. 

The morning passes without incident, and it’s not until lunch that Alexander actually runs into the man. It’s a slow day, mostly on account of him being so ahead of his work, so it mostly amounts to Alexander thinking about Thomas. No matter how much he tries to turn his attention elsewhere, Thomas somehow pops back into his mind. 

Foreign aid? He thinks of Thomas. 

Republicans in Congress? Thomas. 

The black carpet? That suit jacket of Thomas’s. 

The white of the sun shining on him through the window? Thomas’s smile. 

No matter how hard he tries to think of anything else, his mind keeps going back to Thomas. He puts his head in his hands, sighing deeply, and stares down at the desk in front of him. Fuck, he’s in deep. 

That’s how Thomas finds him, a few minutes later, when he walks into Alexander’s office without knocking. 

He looks up at the sound of footsteps, and his eyes find the man. He is standing there, just a few steps away from Alex’s desk, and in his hands is a bag of takeout. 

“I got you a Jefferson with extra hot sauce.” Thomas says slowly, his eyes raking over Alexander, “Do you want to have lunch?”

Like Alexander would say no to that. 

“Of course,” He says with a smile, shaking his head and trying to clear his mind, “Please sit.”

Thomas drops into a seat across from him, handing over a styrofoam takeout container that smells like heaven, and then throwing a set of chopsticks at him. They hit him in the chest before landing on his lap, and Alexander doesn’t bother hiding his smile. 

Thomas says something about the department of state and Alex really is trying his best to follow along, but he can’t drag his eyes away from the way Thomas holds his chopsticks between his gloved fingers, that stupidly beautiful smile on his face as he rambles on. He should be listening, it’s probably important and he wants to be a good friend - but Thomas looks so handsome, so put together, that Alexander can do nothing but stare at him. From his eyelashes that flutter so beautifully against his cheekbones, to the curve of his lips, to the spiral of curls that falls against his cheek. 

“Do I have something on my face?” Thomas asks suddenly, and Alexander blinks a few times, trying to clear his mind and stop being so ridiculous. 

“Huh?” He says, “No, sorry, just got a little distracted. What were you saying?”

Thomas gives him an unconvinced look before continuing on, talking about Burr and the cabinet meeting scheduled for today. The cabinet meeting Alexander had forgotten about. 

The meeting he forgot about because he was too busy practicing the way he would tell Thomas. And sitting here now, listening to Thomas’s voice - so soft and rich and dramatically deep - Alexander is only more convinced of his revelation. He loved Thomas. He was in love with Thomas. He wanted to whole ‘holding hands, good morning kisses, tell me all your secrets' kind of thing. He wanted everything, and he wanted it with Thomas and Thomas alone. 

“Is everything okay?” Thomas says again, and the change in conversation gets Alex’s attention once more, “You’re staring again.”

“I have to tell you something.” The words come from his mouth before he even registers having said them. This wasn’t the way he wanted to do it, not at lunch an hour before a meeting, but he’s already taken the first step. 

Thomas’s eyebrow arches in something akin to consideration, but there’s concern etched into the downward curve of his lips, “Okay?”

“Well I, uh,” Alexander swallows, looking from Thomas’s grey eyes to the black of his suit, “I, well,”

“Alex, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah, I just-” Alexander sighs, deflating in his chair, “I just like your suit.”

Thomas’s eyebrow arches higher, glancing down at the plain black suit he’s worn a multitude of times, and Thomas has to know that wasn’t what he wanted to say. If he does know, he doesn’t push the issue, and instead simply smooths down his lapel and smiles. “Thank you.”

Alexander returns the smile, although it is less than genuine, and decides that he’ll tell him later. He’ll stick to the original plan as to not ruin things with his big mouth too early. 

He looks at Thomas’s smile as he stabs at his food with the chopsticks. Later, he thinks, he’ll tell him later. 

Henry finds him a quarter till one, after Thomas has already returned to his office to grab his things for the meeting, and knocks quietly on his door. 

“Hey kid, you want to walk down together?” Henry asks and Alexander shuts his laptop lid with a click. 

“Sure thing,” He responds, already standing from his desk and joining Henry in the hallway, “Do we know what this meeting is about? I kind of forgot we were even having it.”

Henry gives him a concerned look, eyebrows furrowed, “ _ You _ forgot about it?”

He shrugs as they get into the elevator, “Yeah.”

If Henry wants answers, he doesn’t ask, and instead says, “I think it's about Burr? The memo said something about shifting the team dynamic, whatever the hell that means.”

The doors of the elevator open and Alex groans, “Lovely.”

Thomas is already seated when the arrive, and Alexander has to force his eyes away from him. He grabs his own chair, only half listening to what Henry mutters in his ear, and prays he can stay focused. From what he gathered, it should be a short meeting. Just a few key points and then he could retire to his office and think about how he’s in love with-

“Welcome everyone.” Washington says, his voice like thunder in the quiet of the room, “Just a few points to address today and then you’re all free to continue your work. As you know, I hired Aaron Burr as a mediator between cabinets a few months ago. While his help has been extraordinary in managing the crisis in France, it has come to my attention that his talents are best used elsewhere. He has been promoted, and will no longer be considered in this cabinet.”

Washington continues, and Alex zones out. 

It’s not a surprising revelation, considering Alexander hadn’t seen the man since his debt assumption plan passed, but it still brings him the tiniest bit of joy to know that Burr had gotten removed from the cabinet. He hadn’t done anything, contrary to what Washington might think. The entire compromise had been between Alex and Thomas. 

His gaze flickers to the other man, noting the way he’s looking at Washington. He nods his head as he listens, jotting down little notes on paper. Alex looks at the way his gloved hands grasp the pen, the light from above shining down and reflecting off the leather. 

The pen stops moving, Washington’s voice droning on about something Alex doesn’t care about, and when he looks back up, he finds Thomas’s eyes watching him. The man raises an eyebrow, once more, looking amused and a little confused. 

Alexander looks away quickly, feels a flush heat up his cheeks, and wishes he could stop this shit immediately. Jesus, he feels like an actual child with their first love. It’s pathetic really. 

His phone buzzes on the table and Alex slides his finger across the screen to unlock it. 

From Thomas (1:08 PM): Take a picture, babe, it’ll last longer. 

He locks his phone, sees Thomas’s shit eating grin, and turns his attention back to Washington. His cheeks are aflame, but he finds comfort knowing that Thomas, more than likely, can’t tell. 

The meeting ends and Alexander finds his way back to his office. The conference room had been much hotter than upstairs, and now that he’s returned, there’s a chill in the air. He grabs the jacket Hercules had made him, sliding it onto his shoulders, and sends a quick text to Peggy. 

To Peggy (1:58 PM): What’s Thomas’s schedule like?

She responds immediately. 

From Peggy (1:59 PM): Clear and empty. I told him to take a half day like the rest of his. 

And that’s good enough for him. He fastens the metal loop in the front of his jacket, smoothing down the sides, and takes a deep breath. 

Everything is fine. He can do this. 

And then he walks to Thomas’s office. 

Thomas’s door is shut, Peggy nowhere to be seen, and Alexander stops in front of the door. There is light shining through the crack underneath it, so he knows he’s here. He knows Thomas is on the other side of the wall, so close, and - maybe - finally not so far away. 

Alexander takes a deep breath as he waits in front of the door, trying to psych himself up. He can do this. He’s practiced the words too many times now, he knows exactly what he wants to say, and he just needs to rip the bandaid off and do it. No matter what Thomas’s response is, no matter if he shoves Alexander away or walks out the door, everything is fine. It would hurt, and it might very well rip his heart from his chest, but there’s no use in putting it off any longer. 

He has to know, and Thomas deserves to know. 

A deep breath in, and then Alexander’s knuckles are knocking against the door. The sound echoes off the wood, loud and out of place in the quietness that surrounds him. 

“Come in,” Thomas’s voice says from inside, and Alexander lets the breath out. 

He pushes open the door and leans against the door jam with his arms crossed. The position is awkward and Alexander trying to appear casual only seems to be making it worse. Instead of drowning in the anxiousness that invades him, Alexander focuses his mind. He’s here for a reason, and he’s not leaving until they both have answers. 

“Hey you,” Thomas says with a quick glance up from his laptop. His gloved fingers are moving across the keyboard in a quick and rhythmic manner, the sound comforting to Alexander’s ears. 

He forces himself to walk further inside the office, not stopping until his body is adjacent to the desk that Thomas works on. 

“Are you exceptionally busy?” Alexander says, keeping his voice level. 

Thomas looks up at him, a smile hinting at the corner of his mouth, “Not at all, I’m just finishing up some emails.”

“Wonderful,” Alexander says, reaching out and shutting Thomas’s laptop with a quiet click. He pushes it to the side of the desk, before squeezing past Thomas’s (large, thick-) thighs and hopping up to sit in the spot the laptop had once occupied. 

He smiles at the bewildered looks on Thomas’s face and says, “I have come to distract you, as always.”

From his position sitting on Thomas’s desk, Alexander is finally a little taller than the other man, who’s still sitting in front of him, his hands resting on the desk on either side of Alex’s hips. 

Thomas looks up at him through his lashes, face more composed, and says “Now I’m intrigued. Do tell.”

Alexander can feel those nervous butterflies in his stomach and he leans into the scariness of it all. Even if Thomas doesn’t feel the same way, Alexander is confident - for once - that the man isn’t going to throw him out the door. It might be awkward for a bit, but Thomas wouldn’t just abandon him because Alex accidentally went and fell in love with him. 

“I was thinking maybe we could talk?” Alexander says, “Or that I could just annoy the hell out of you until you pay attention to me.”

Thomas’s hand brushes against the fabric of Alexander’s pants and he has to take a deep breath before he can meet the man’s eyes. Thomas has that look on his face again, and Alexander has to suck in a deep breath at the look in his eyes. He looks comfortable, amused even, but there’s an underlying emotion etched into the curve of his features that he can’t name. 

“If it’s my attention you want, I’d say you have it.” Thomas whispers, his voice sounding like butter to Alex’s ears. 

When Alexander says nothing, Thomas scoots a little closer in his chair. They’re close now, their faces only a few inches away, and Alexander feels like he can’t breath. His eyes drop to Thomas’s lips, and he has to swallow hard. 

Thomas is just staring at him, and before Alex knows it, the words leave his mouth, “When you look at me like that, I think you’re going to kiss me.”

In Thomas’s defense, Alexander didn’t know he was going to say it either. 

Alex looks back up just in time to see the man’s eyebrows arch in surprise, his eyes flickering to Alex’s lips before they go back to his eyes. His eyes are searching Alexander’s, confusion obvious in the furrow of his brows. Alex sees him swallow, watches the way his throat moves, and his own tongue darts out to wet his lips on instinct. 

When Thomas speaks again, his voice is low and raspy, “Is that, uh, is that something you would want?”

Alexander looks away from Thomas, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to play off his uncomfortableness, “I mean, is that something  _ you _ would want?”

Thomas looks at him for a long moment, his cheeks dusting dark grey, and then he drops his head into Alex’s lap. The motion jolts him, Thomas’s head way too close to the growing interest in his pants, and Alex reaches out a hand and slowly brushes it along the man’s mostly hidden face. 

It’s an intimate position and Alexander tries to slow the beating of his heart. 

“Thomas,” Alex says, his voice comforting, and the man finally looks up at him again. 

They’re closer than before, considering Alexander had bent down a little, and their lips are so fucking close. It would be so easy, too easy, to just lean down and eliminate the last inch between them. 

Alexander’s brain mutters a quiet ‘fuck it’ in the back of his head, and he slowly begins to bend down even further, so damn close-

Thomas’s eyes go wide, and he scoots back before Alex can close the distance. He pushes back from the desk, standing up and turning from Alexander, running his hand through his hair. The change of pace gives Alexander emotional whiplash and he has no time to be embarrassed before confusion invades him. 

“Thomas?”

“I just, I can’t.” The other man says, voice quiet as he looks anywhere but at Alexander. 

His constant internal monologue is, for once, blank. 

“What?” The words leave his mouth sounding breathless. 

“I’m sorry, I just can’t do this.”

Alexander blinks once, trying to keep the flush off his face. He can feel the way his face heats up, burning, and the mortification spreads through the rest of his body. He had been wrong, once more. Thomas wasn’t interested. 

“Oh,” He says quietly, “Is- Is it me?”

Thomas whips around to face him, a bewildered look on his face. In an instant, he’s back by the desk in front of Alexander - closer but not as close as before - and his hand finds Alexander, interlinking their fingers together. 

“No,” Thomas says plainly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, “Of course, it’s not you. I meant what I said at your house. I think you’re perfect, but I just- I can’t do this.”

“Oh,” Alexander says, his fingers squeezing against Thomas’s. He can see the disappointment in the other man’s eyes, and it's making his chest feel uncomfortably tight. “That’s okay, I get it.”

He doesn’t, but this is Thomas, and Alexander loves him too much to push the man farther than he wants to go. 

Thomas is still looking at him with that hurt expression, and Alexander quickly racks his brain for a different conversation. He needs to change the subject now, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get that look of Thomas’s face. 

He looks down at their interlocked hands and gets a glimpse of his own grey jacket. It reminds him of Hercules, of what he had said, and Alexander runs with it. 

“What do you think of my jacket?” He asks, voice devoid of all the hurt and embarrassment he’s feeling, “Hercules made it. He said he got inspiration from one of the shirts you wore.”

Thomas’s eyes glance down at his jacket, a small and relieved smile spreading across his face. His free hand comes out to brush against the chain that hangs in the front, the touch too close to Alexander’s stomach, and he has to focus on keeping his breath steady. 

“It looks good on you.” Thomas says with a small smile, “But, if he found inspiration from something I wore, I’m not surprised it looks good.”

It’s such a Thomas thing to say that Alexander actually laughs. Even after the kiss-miss, he’s glad to see that Thomas isn’t acting any different. 

He squeezes Thomas’s hand, “I like the stitch on the lapel.”

“It’s a nice change from your usual boring suits, although I might be biased. I have a thing for unique clothing, as you know.”

“Maybe I should start dressing like you. I could be Thomas Jefferson 2.0, although there’s no way I could pick up your shitty political opinions.”

“Please, you couldn’t pull off half the shit I wear.” Thomas rsays with a roll of his eyes. 

“But I pull this off, right?” Alexander says, raising his eyebrows quickly, “Come on, admit it, I look better than you.”

Thomas looks at him, eyes narrowing on the jacket, before he smirks,“Only slightly, and it’s only because I’ve never looked good in blue.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Alex feels Thomas’s fingers tighten against his own, and - suddenly - Alex can’t breath.

In an instant, Thomas’s expression changes. That smirk is wiped from his face and it is replaced with wide eyes full of terror. 

_Blue_. Thomas had said blue. 

Thomas could see the colour of his jacket. Thomas knew the jacket was blue. 

Alexander swallows, feels confusion pulse through his blood with every beat of his heart, and he tries to run through the logistics in his mind. 

Alex had kept the suit in the garment bag since he got it from Hercules. He only knows of two people that touched it, and one of them had a soulmate already. 

Which means that- 

No, it’s impossible. 

But the more he thinks about, the more Thomas refuses to say anything, the more it seems less impossible. It all comes within a few seconds. It feels like a lifetime, like he’s reliving every moment, and then it feels like a slap to the face. 

Every clue, every hint, every word writes itself across his vision like divine intervention, and Alexander wonders how he was so fucking blind. 

_ The gloves.  _

_ The way Thomas had scoffed and said Alexander ruined his jacket that night at the bar.  _

_ The colours.  _

_ The picture frame.  _

_ The book.  _

How had he not seen it?

The world is pressing down around him, threatening to suffocate him, as the only possible conclusion comes into his mind. 

It can’t be true, though. Thomas would- he would have never kept that from Alexander. If they were soulmates, if Thomas knew they were soulmates, he would have told him. Thomas wouldn’t keep such a secret, not when he knew how badly Alexander wanted to meet his soulmate. 

Thomas wouldn’t. He would never. 

And yet every instinct in Alexander’s body tells him he can’t be sure. He doesn’t think Thomas would do that, but the other explanations - the other ways to write off all these coincidences - are growing dimmer by the second. 

Thomas still hasn’t said anything, hasn’t bothered trying to explain. His eyes are wide, desperate, his lips pursed like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t. He just stares at Alexander, and the world around him presses down a little harder. 

“Thomas?” Alexander questions, voice hesitant as the conclusion grows stronger in his head. Thomas knew it was blue, which means Thomas’s soulmate must have touched his clothes. But if he and Hercules were the only people that touched it, and Hercules’s soulmate was Eliza then- 

No, it can’t be. 

Thomas says nothing. He says absolutely nothing. 

Alex forces his eyes closed trying to focus on his breathing. Thomas wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

But there’s a voice in the back of his head that says Alexander doesn’t know that for sure. 

He needs answers, he is desperate for them, and Thomas isn’t going to tell him. 

So Alexander does the only thing he can think of. 

It only takes a couple of seconds. Alexander is still sitting on the desk, which gives him a small advantage over the other man. Before he can think twice or second guess himself, he twists the hand still interlinked with Thomas’s, using the momentum to grab the man’s wrist, and then - with his free hand - he pulls the glove from Thomas’s hand. He ignores Thomas’s immediate, terrified, sound of protest and shoves the glove-free hand into his own chest. 

Thomas rips his hand away as soon as it touches Alex’s jacket, but it's too late, the damage is already done. 

He pulls in an uneven breath, a borderline sob, and opens his eyes. His breath catches in his throat as he looks down, and the entire world - that had been balancing so delicately on his shoulders - crashing around him. 

Because all he sees is blue. 

He looks down at the soft cross stitch of his jacket, which once white is now a fine gold colour. The dark grey material, which had hung so delicately to his form, is now the most beautiful blue he’s ever seen. It’s a dark colour, maybe navy blue. It’s as he stares down at the colour, so beautiful and vibrant, that tears begin to cloud his vision. 

Because Thomas is his soulmate, and he’s been lying to Alexander this entire time. 

When he looks up at Thomas, who is facing the window, a few of the tears building in his eyes finally begin to fall. 

“You  _ knew _ .” Alex says, his voice cracking, “You knew this whole time.”

Thomas doesn’t respond, doesn’t even bother to turn around and dignify the comment. 

There are so many emotions welling up inside him. Shock, hurt, betrayal, and - finally - anger. Because Thomas had known. He had known from the first time he stepped into the White House and he had known everyday since. But he never said anything. He went as far to tell Alexander that he hadn’t even met his soulmate, while he was living in a colourful world of lies. 

Thomas had known. He had known the whole time. 

Anger rises above all the other emotions in his chest, and Alexander forces himself from the desk. He rounds in front of Thomas, pushing himself between the wall and the man. 

“You fucking asshole!” His words are harsh and his tone harsher, “You absolute fucking asshole. You’ve known this whole time! You’ve known and you didn’t fucking tell me?”

“You hated me, Alexander.” Thomas snaps, his eyes dark and his words are like venom. “You hated me.”

“I haven’t hated you in a long time. After the assumption bill passed, you could have told me! And you could have told me everyday after that!”

“It was  _ my _ choice to make.” The words are harsh, “It was my Goddamn choice, and how dare you take it from me.”

“How could you lie to me?” Alexander hisses back, tears steadily falling from his eyes, “You knew how badly I wanted to meet my soulmate, how badly I wanted to see colour, and you kept me from it, you selfish asshole!”

“You want to see colour, then fine.” Thomas hisses back at him, yanking off the other glove from his hand. He pushes a box off his desk, the wood turning dark brown before it hits the floor. He pushes the chair - hard - turning it purple as it slams into the desk. 

Alexander watches, tears he has no control of streaming from his eyes, and his horror growing, as Thomas rounds the desk. He pulls at the curtains, sending them fluttering as they turn a dark blue colour. He swipes his hands across the desk, sending items scrambling as they change colour before they hit the floor. 

When the office is almost in full colour, Thomas stops. He stares at the mess around him, at his completely destroyed office, and then he looks at Alex. His face is distraught, anger and hurt clearly written in his features. The man sighs, hand running across his face - and it’s the first time Alex has ever seen him do it without gloves. 

When Thomas looks back up, his face is blank. 

It is completely devoid of emotion, of feelings, and Alexander feels unease growing in his own chest, mixing with the other mainlined emotions. It’s so similar to the look Thomas had given him before, back when he had insulted the man’s soulmate. 

Back when he had unknowingly insulted himself. 

“Fuck you.” Thomas says, no heat in his voice, only tired resignation. “ _ Fuck _ you.”

Thomas leaves then, the door clicking shut behind him, and Alexander is left - alone - in a room full of colour. He can’t even notice it. He can’t even look at it, can’t appreciate his first colour overload. 

All he feels is the terrible pounding in his chest, the betrayal that’s rising within him, and a realization that everything - that was once so perfect and bright - has finally come crashing down, just as he knew it would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes  
\- everything will be fine, I promise, do not fret.  
\- Aaron is gone!! well, not completely ;)  
\- bet you didn't expect that to happen LMAO  
\- let me know what you think, yeah?  
\- say hi on my Tumblr: writtenrevolution


	21. the aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So writer's block was a bitch when writing this chapter. I think it's quite evident throughout the chapter, but please bear with me. Next chapter is Thomas's POV so I'm hoping I can get back into the swing of things and get that one posted within my usual schedule! (and up to my usual standards)
> 
> thank you for being patient with me and encouraging me :)
> 
> also check out this amazing [fanart](https://milurocks.tumblr.com/post/190558644278/fanart-i-made-of-writtenrevolution-s-beautiful) created by milurocks on tumblr
> 
> (speaking of, if you want to send me fan art to link/look at,,, just hit a girl up)
> 
> (ALSO WOW WE HIT 100K WORDS!!!)

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. The room feels too small around him, suffocating almost, in the way it squeezes down around his shoulders. He can barely breath, each intake of breath more painful than the last. The truth is settling around him, obvious in the ripped papers and pens that litter the floor. 

Thomas is his soulmate. 

And it hurts. 

The words worm their way under his skin, burrowing through his stomach and chest, and squeezing too tight. It has to be some cruel twist of fate. It has to be, because Alexander had been so hellbent on not wanting anyone but his soulmate. He had decided that he would never date anyone that wasn’t meant to be his, and then he met Thomas. He had been willing to give it all up, to take the risk he knows too well, but he only wanted to do it with Thomas. 

And yet he wasn’t giving it up, because Thomas _ was _ his soulmate. They were meant to be together. The Gods, the universe, or whatever he wants to call it, had decided that Thomas and he were the perfect match. They were meant to end up together. 

But Thomas had lied to him. Thomas had known they were soulmates, he had seen the colour of every single thing Alexander had touched, and yet he had kept his mouth shut. He didn’t tell him, and Alexander can only assume it's because Thomas doesn’t want him. He’s never wanted him. 

If Thomas had lied about something like this, something as big as them being soulmates, then he could have easily lied about everything else. When he said Alexander was perfect? It was a lie. When he said Alexander’s soulmate was a lucky person? That was a lie too. Everything he said had to have been a lie, because there is no other possibility. If Thomas actually meant it, if Thomas actually liked him, then he wouldn’t have lied. He wouldn’t have pretended like Alexander wasn’t his soulmate. He only did it because he doesn’t want Alex. He doesn’t want to date him, he doesn’t want to be with him, and he doesn’t want to be Alexander’s soulmate. 

And it hurts. 

Alexander tries to focus on his own breathing, tries to force his legs to move. He doesn’t look at the office around him, thrown into too bright colours, and moves one foot after another. 

He has to leave. He has to get out of here. 

His conversation with Thomas hadn’t lasted more than an hour, so it can be no later than three o’clock. It’s technically too early for him to leave without approval from Washington himself, and Alexander has to force his feet to keep moving. He doesn’t have to explain himself, doesn’t have to explain what happened, he just has to tell Washington that he needs to leave early. The man wouldn’t push; he trusts Alexander inexplicably. 

Thankfully, Alexander doesn’t run into anyone important on the way to Washington’s office. There are a few interns that cast him concerned looks, but his reputation must proceed him, because all it takes is a measured glare to send them scurrying in the opposite direction. Normally, he would try to dissuade their opinions of him, because he really wasn’t as terrible as the rumours made him out to be, but Alexander is barely keeping it together. The tears from earlier have stopped for the moment, but he’s all too aware of the dried tear tracks on his face. 

He doesn’t knock on Washington’s door, just pushes it open and steps inside. Washington is behind his desk, glasses resting across the bridge of his nose as he skims through the papers that lay in front of him. Washington doesn’t look up when Alexander enters, so he steps forward until he’s right in front of the man’s desk. 

“Your Excellency?” Alexander says, and the words sound funny to his own ears, like his voice isn’t his own. He can only hope that Washington is too absorbed in his own work to pay attention to all the ways Alexander is not his usual self. He doesn’t want the man to push, or question it, he just wants to get the hell out of here. 

His words get the man’s attention and he glasses up from above the rim of his glasses. “Alexander, how can I help you?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be leaving early today.”

Washington’s eyebrow arches, a carefully planned show of interest, “Is that so?”

“Yes sir,” Alexander says on instinct, “Is that a problem?”

Washington leans further back in his chair, his fingers intertwined behind his head as if he were stretching, “I just find it strange that my Secretaries are suddenly requesting time off. Did something happen that I’m not aware of?”

He has that sinking feeling in his stomach again, “Your Secretaries, sir?”

“Thomas just came to speak to me as well.”

Alexander tries to keep his face impassive. “Did he?”

“Yes, he did. He requested a week off. So, I’ll ask again, did something happen that I’m not aware of?”

His jaw ticks as he processes the information. Thomas was taking a week off? Alex supposes that’s a good thing. If Thomas isn’t at the White House, there’s a very slim chance that Alexander is going to run into him. And, to be honest, the last person he wants to see at the moment is Thomas. 

Even so, he doesn’t make it a habit of lying to Washington. Even throughout the war, when John had dueled with Charles Lee and when Alexander had slightly encouraged it against Washington’s orders, he had never lied to him. He thinks too highly of the man to take him for a fool. 

Which is why it hurts so bad when Alexander shakes his head, putting on his most charming smile, and says, “Nothing has happened to the best of my knowledge. I just need to meet with a Senator to discuss my Bank Bill. If something happened with Jefferson, you would need to speak to him about that.” 

Washington’s eyes narrow just a fraction - almost impossible to notice for someone that hadn’t spent years learning his every tell - when Alex says Jefferson. He realizes the slip up as soon as he says it, knows that he might have just given himself away. He hasn’t referred to Thomas as Jefferson in a long time. 

Thankfully, Washington doesn’t comment on it. He simply releases a soft exhale of breath and motions to Alexander with his hand. 

“Go then, I expect progress on the Bill by Friday, Alexander.”

“Of course, Your Excellency.” He responds, his knees feeling weak as he exits the office. He leaves the White House without a glance backwards. Alexander makes it to his car and climbs into the front seat, collapsing against the steering wheel and trying to keep his breathing even. He can’t go home right now, can’t be alone. But there’s a small list of people he’s willing to see. His wants to see someone that’s going to comfort him but not ask questions. He wants someone that will hug him and tell him Thomas is a piece of shit if he doesn’t understand how great Alexander is. 

He puts the car in drive, heading towards John’s apartment without even thinking about it. John is his best friend, and even though the man is an asshole ninety percent of the time, Alexander needs that right now. He needs someone to tell him that everything is fine. That nothing is different now, even if it feels like everything has completely gone to shit. 

Alexander whips the steering wheel into an open parking spot and takes a few steadying breaths, ignoring the thoughts that keep piling in his head. 

Thoughts that remind him that this is the kind of thing he’d go to Thomas for. Thomas had, somewhere along the way, became one of Alex’s closest friends. Their arguing was replaced with banter, their hate replaced with trust, passion still deeply rooted in everything they did. 

Alexander’s fit hit the pavement outside and he inhales deeply. He couldn’t talk to Thomas anymore. Everything between them was over. The one thing that Alexander had been so desperate to preserve, their friendship, had crumbled. And as much as Alex wants to blame Thomas - and he does - he can admit that he’s just as responsible. If he had kept his mouth shut, put distance between them, and taken his stupid infatuation to the grave, then none of this would have ever happened. 

He never would have been in Thomas’s office. He never would have brought up kissing. He never would have pulled that fucking glove off Thomas’s hand and screwed everything between them straight to hell. 

Thomas was guilty, but Alexander knows he isn’t innocent either. 

The elevator ride does nothing to help clear his thoughts. His head is piling with them, overwhelming and making him feel worse by the second. 

Because, yeah it sucks that Thomas lied to him, but it’s even worse to think about why he lied. They had been friends, they had been close, so Alexander’s thoughts immediately go to the negative. He can’t help but think that Thomas kept it from him because he didn’t think Alexander was good enough. 

His heart is too fast in his own chest as he rounds the corner to John’s door. His hand comes down hard on the worn wood and he knows he’s being too loud. The world is eerily quiet outside of his own head, and all he can think about is how he needs John. He needs to see him, to feel his body heat, to hear him say that everything is okay. 

The door opens, thankfully, and Alexander can’t help the ugly sound that leaves his mouth. It’s a sound mixed of desperation, of anxiety, and of relief. Because he needs to talk to John. 

He looks up, eyesight blurring with unshed tears, and stops. Because the person behind the door isn’t John. 

Alexander blinks a few times, his gaze moving from light hair to pale grey skin, before finding the concerned twist of lips. And then, finally, he finds the words. 

“Ben?”

Ben’s eyes narrow, concern written on every inch of his face, as he - no doubt - takes in the hazardous mess in front of him. “Alex,”

“Is John here? I need to speak with him.” His words break on John’s name and he tries to keep his voice steady. 

“No, he ran out for a minute.” Ben says, pulling the door open further, “But you should probably come inside.”

Alexander steps inside and watches as Ben shuts the door behind them. He takes a moment to observe Ben, from his shoulder length light hair to the thicker than before hair on his cheeks. He hasn’t seen Ben in months, not since Washington had sent him off with a secret agenda. 

“I didn’t realize you were back. When did you get in?”

“Last night actually.” Ben says with a small smile, his accent coming out more pronounced than usual, “It’s nice to be back.” 

“I’m glad you’re back. The gang hasn’t been the same since the only person that can make good decisions left.” Alex says as he takes a seat on the couch, trying to keep himself together. No point in sobbing to a guy that has been gone so long he’s out of the loop. Ben probably has no idea who Thomas is, let alone that Alexander is in love with him. 

John will be back soon, and Alex can keep it together until then. 

Ben drops into the chair next to him and a scoff of laughter escapes his mouth, “John’s been trying to keep me up to date. I heard about you and André.” 

The reminder of André, of how he’s in New York, only makes Alexander’s chest hurt even more. 

“Yeah, he’s a good guy.”

Ben’s tongue comes out to brush against his bottom lip, “Does he have anything to do with why you’re upset?”

Alexander looks up on instinct, “I mean, not really. I do wish he was back from New York though.”

“So, do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”

Alexander looks at Ben, at his raised eyebrows and the boyish charm that seeps from him, and shakes his head. 

“I fucked up.”

Ben must know that that’s the best he’s going to get from Alexander, because his lips purse just a little before he stands from the chair. “I’m making some tea, okay? John will be back in a minute.”

True to Ben’s words, John does return almost as soon as the water is boiling on the stove. He throws the door open, his smile wide as the sun falls on his freckles, but the smile freezes on his face when he sees Alexander - curled up on the couch. 

Alex doesn’t miss the concerned look John throws Ben’s way, or the knowing look Ben shoots back. 

Maybe it's a soulmate thing, or maybe it's a John and Ben thing, but they seem to be communicating solely through exchanged looks. Either John comes to the conclusion that something is wrong, or he knows Alexander well enough by now, that he decides intervention is in order. 

Alexander watches as John shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto the chair Ben had vacated, and then he comes to stand in front of Alexander. John reaches out, his palm facing upwards. 

“Come on, let’s go talk.”

Alexander allows John to pull him from the couch and force him into the bedroom John shares with Ben. They crawl underneath the thick comforter and John easily wraps his arms around him and holds tight. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Alexander blinks back the tears that seem to form at the softness of John’s voice, “Thomas is my soulmate.”

He can feel the way John’s arms stiffen. “What?”

Alexander buries his face in John’s neck, feels the steady beat of his heart and tries to relax into the heat that surrounds him. 

“Thomas is my soulmate. He’s known this entire time, but I just found out.”

John is quiet for a moment, “Why would he lie about that?”

“Why do you think?” Alexander says, his voice only partly muffled by John’s skin. 

John doesn’t speak for a minute, and when he does, his answer is soft, “I’m sorry, Alex, but if he doesn’t see how amazing you are, how smart and sexy and perfect you are, then he isn’t deserving of you. And he might be an idiot too.”

Alexander only snorts into John’s neck. 

The man sighs, “I wish I could offer you more than, but I don’t know how else to help.”

Alexander blinks open his eyes, looking at John’s sculpted jawline, “You are helping. I knew that’s what you would say, and I was kind of counting on it.”

John shifts so Alex can look into his eyes better, “You believe me don’t you?”

“I mean, sort of.”

John runs his fingers through Alex’s hair and tilts his head until the eye contact is almost overwhelming, “I mean it, Alex. To be honest, I had a thing for you back in college. I thought you were perfect, hell, I still think you’re perfect. You are the smartest person I know. You can write palaces with words, you can convince anyone of your argument. Your brain is like a never ending waterfall of knowledge. You are ambitious, unstoppable, charming, and funny.” John says, words like conviction, “And your ass isn’t terrible either.”

Alexander chokes out a laugh, even with tears brimming his eyes, “I love you so much, you asshole.”

“I know, and I love you so much too.” John’s smile is bright and soft, “Do you want to stay here tonight? Ben wouldn’t mind; he’s missed you too.”

And the thought is nice. They could watch shitty TV and pig out on takeout, like they were back in college. 

But they aren’t in college anymore. John and Ben are soulmates, madly in love, and Ben has just returned home from a month long stay far from D.C. Alexander is under no dissolutions. They would welcome him for the night, no questions asked, but he doesn’t want to make them. He knows they wouldn’t consider it a burden, but he doesn’t want to interrupt their reunion. 

“I should go home eventually,” Alexander says, “But can we just lay here for a minute?”

John smooths a piece of Alexander’s hair that never stays where he wants it, and smiles, “We can stay here as long as you want.”

Alexander inhales a deep breath, smells John’s cologne and shampoo on the pillows, and closes his eyes. 

It’s sometime later that Alexander manages to pry John off him. They return to the living room, where Ben is sitting and watching some historical documentary on the television. He offers a small smile and a knowing eyebrow when they walk in, and Alexander drops onto the couch next to him. His head rests on Ben’s shoulder and the man doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around him. 

“You feel a little better?” Ben asks, muting the TV with his free hand. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll be okay.” Alexander says, his voice muffled by Ben’s sweater, “I really am glad that you’re back. We’ll all have to get drinks soon.”

Ben wraps his free arm around Alexander, effectively pulling him into a too tight hug. “I’m glad to be back too, and I promise we will. If you need anything in the meantime, don’t be a stranger.”

Alex presses a kiss to Ben’s cheek and winks, “I won’t, I promise.”

“Be good,” Ben says, “And text André.”

Alexander smiles in response, standing from the couch and allowing John to pull him into another hug. He squeezes back tight, trying to keep his breath even, and then pulls away. 

“I love you both.” Alexander says, as he makes his way towards the door. 

He hears Ben return the acknowledgement and John ruffles his hair. 

“We love you too.”

And then Alexander is opening the door, stepping out into the hallway, and trying not to think about why he was even upset in the first place. 

He gets home a little before eight. Alexander opens the door and pushes inside, dropping his satchel on the ground and making his way towards the bedroom. Alexander flicks the light on, his gaze catching on the white jacket sitting on his desk chair. It punches the air out of his lungs, the reminder of Thomas - of all he had lost - and Alexander can't help the way he walks towards it. He picks the jacket up, feeling the soft material between his fingers and squeezes his eyes shut. 

Against his better judgement, Alexander wraps the jacket around his shoulders and goes to brush his teeth. When he's finished he collapses into bed, Thomas's jacket still wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and the smell of him overwhelming. 

The jacket only serves to make him feel worse, and he thinks of what Ben said, thinks of how nice it would be to speak with André, and then types out a quick message on his phone. 

To John André (8:08 PM): Can I call you?

André reads the message almost as soon as it delivers, and a moment later his phone is vibrating with André’s name on the screen. 

Alex takes a breath and answers the call. 

“Alex, is everything okay?” André’s voice greets him and his accent is soft and comfortable, familiar in a way that it shouldn’t be. He’s only known André for a few short weeks, but the sound of his name on the man’s tongue makes his heart actually ache in his chest. 

He misses him. He fucking misses André, and he wishes he was here to help him pick up the pieces of his broken heart. There are so many other people he could have called. Also could have called Eliza, Angelica, or Lafayette or anyone else in their friend group. But they were all aboard the Alex and Thomas train, they were all waiting to hear what happened once Alex had confessed his love, and he doesn’t know if he can tell them right now. 

But André was different. He was kind and charming, and while he knew - or suspected - that Alex’s heart belonged with another, he was as unbiased Alex could get. 

“Hi John,” Alexander says, and he hates how broken his voice sounds, “How’s New York?” 

“New York is fine, but I have a feeling that isn’t why you called. Tell me what’s going on?” 

Alexander rolls into his side, burying his face in the pillow, and taking a deep breath, “I fucked up, John, I fucked up big time.” 

André’s voice is smooth and comforting in his ear, “Do you want to tell me how?” 

“I found my soulmate.” Alexander says, the words sounding bitter on his lips, “And he doesn’t want me.” 

“Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry.” André says, and it doesn’t sound like he’s just running through the motions. He sounds genuine, like he’s actually sympathetic to what Alex is going through, “That’s something you should never have to go through.” 

A pathetic attempt at a laugh breaks free of his throat, “I’m sorry I called to dump this all on you. I know you’re busy in New York, and I’m just being dramatic.” 

“Don’t even try and apologize, sweetheart. I will always make time for you. Whether it’s for you to rant, or for advice, or anything in between. I know we only met a short while ago, but you’re stuck with me now.” 

Alexander smiles into the pillow, thankful that André seemed to be able to read his mind. “Thank you for making me feel better. I really miss you. Even though we just met, I consider you a good friend. Is that crazy?” 

“It’s not crazy.” André responds, “I miss you too, and I’ll be back in D. C. on Friday, and I’ll take you out to that play and get your mind off everything. Does that sound okay?” 

His voice is watery when he replies, “That sounds really good.”

“Why don’t you take a hot bath and try to relax? Maybe get some rest or watch something stupid on TV? Just try to get your mind off everything.” André’s voice is soft, suggestive but not pushing. 

The emotional turmoil is weighing down on Alex, making him feel exhausted even though it's still early. He yawns loudly and blinks a few times, “Yeah, I think I might just call it an early night for once.”

André’s breath is soft on the other end of the line, “Do you want me to say on the phone with you until you fall asleep?”

Alexander might actually cry a little at those words, “That’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“I want to. Put me on speaker and just lay down for a little bit.” André insists and Alexander has to blink a couple of tears away. 

How is that André, someone Alexander had only just met, was so kind and perfectly in tune with what Alexander needed? He had read long ago about how one tends to find the people they need right before they need them. He can’t help but wonder if the universe had given him André to help Alexander get through the Thomas situation. 

He yawns loudly again as he switches the phone to speaker-phone. Alexander lays it down next to him and curls closer underneath the comforter. 

“Goodnight, André.” He whispers. 

André’s voice is kind on the other end, “Goodnight, darling.”

And when he falls asleep, he’s looking at the screen of his phone, John Andre’s contact name lit up, the soft sound of his breathing on the other end, and the smell of Thomas's cologne all around him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes  
\- this took forever, I know and im sorry.  
\- I love Ben Tallmadge very much. If you'd like to know more about his historical life, [here](http://www.ouramericanrevolution.org/index.cfm/people/view/pp0057) and [here](https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/benjamin-tallmadge/) are some links.  
\- tbh forgot about Thomas's jacket for a hot minute until I thought, how can I make this more angsty?  
\- say hi on my Tumblr: writtenrevolution  
\- hints for next chapter: John Locke, Virginia, and James Madison


	22. insert thomas jefferson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insert Thomas Jefferson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited change of perspective! Wow, this was such a fun chapter to write. Thomas's head is a confusing minefield of a place, so I hope I did it justice. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my darling tinywhim. thank you for always cheering me on, for sending me gifs of shirtless Daveed, and for being the greatest person alive. 
> 
> Check out [this](https://jamisahivemind.tumblr.com/post/190924146755/all-i-want-is-are-all-shades-all-the-flutters) awesome fan art made by jamisahivemind on tumblr!
> 
> Also quick note, this chapter talks a bit about Thomas's past so there's a mention of the murder-suicide from the previous chapter. Be careful my dears. 
> 
> Now, without further ado,

In his defense, none of this was ever supposed to happen. 

It was never supposed to happen, at least not like this. 

Working for Washington was supposed to be a four year thing - eight if the man got reelected, and then Thomas was going to go back to Monticello, maybe even go back to France, and look back at his time as Secretary of State fondly. 

He was never, ever, ever supposed to meet his soulmate in the process. 

Thomas wants to blame James. It was James, after all, that took Thomas to that shitty bar in the first place. His first night back in the states, exhausted from traveling and nervous for his first day at the White House, and James had somehow convinced him to go out for a drink. 

It was there, at Rocky’s, that Thomas saw colour for the first time. 

That barely put together booth in the back corner, the old oak table sloppily painted in a coat of dark blue. He didn’t know it at the time, but it's kind of ironic that blue was the first colour he ever saw. Blue meant sadness, and sadness was the only thing he was ever going to get out of his relationship Alexander. 

There had been fleeting moments of happiness, of laughter, and love, and peace. But Thomas has been counting the days until it all fell apart, the knowledge always heavy in the back of his mind, and he shouldn’t be surprised - or disappointed - that the day came sooner than he hoped. Fate is a bitch, after all. 

It was never supposed to go like this. 

He had never wanted to meet his soulmate, had never wanted to actually like them, had never actually wanted to fall in love with them. 

But how could he have expected anything else when his soulmate was Alexander?

The door of his townhouse slams behind him, unintentional, and the sound makes Thomas jump. His hands are shaking, his cheeks flushed, and his heart racing too fast in his chest. 

He pulls the gloves from his hands, letting them land on the corner table just inside the door. There wasn’t much point in wearing them anymore, was there? Alexander knew. He fucking knew, and there was nothing Thomas could do to explain himself. Every explanation, every justification would fall flat. There was no damage control, there was only consequence. 

Locke appears out of nowhere, running forward perfectly balanced on her three legs, and she curls herself between Thomas’s feet. The sight of her, after such a particularly terrible day, relieves a little of the tension gripping his shoulders. He bends down to pick her up, cradling her in his arms as he runs his fingers through her soft fur. It’s a light grey colour, orange if what James says is true, and he listens to her purr. 

“I’m going home to Monticello for the week, Locke.” Thomas says, as if she can understand what he’s saying, “Do you want to stay here? I’m sure Martha would come make sure you’re fed.”

Locke blinks up at Thomas, her whiskers brushing against his arm, and Thomas can only sigh. Leaving her here wouldn’t be fair. Martha wasn’t a fan of cats, so he doubt she’d give Locke the attention his darling deserved. Leaving her here feels like it would be a punishment, and Locke didn’t deserve to be punished because Thomas was a complete and utter idiot. 

He places her back on the ground, watches for a minute as she brushes up against his pant leg, and then he moves to the bedroom to pack a suitcase.

The sooner he gets out of D.C., the sooner he gets away from Alexander. 

And hopefully, once he’s 100 miles away, he’ll be able to breath again. 

It takes him only a few minutes to throw some clothes into the black and white suitcase. He doesn’t bother packing anything specifically nice, because once he gets to Monticello, Thomas doesn’t think he’ll be leaving his estate for the remainder of the week. 

It's fairly easy to coax Locke into the cat carrier, and then he’s loading everything into the backseat of his car. The steering wheel is smooth and familiar under his hands, and Thomas doesn’t hesitate to throw his car into reverse. 

He waits until he’s stopped at a red light just outside of Arlington to text James. It’s a short text, only a couple of hastily strung together words, but it’s enough. 

James is perceptive. He’ll pick up everything Thomas doesn’t say, and - for once - he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing. 

James (4:46PM): I’ll be back at Monticello by 6 tonight. 

The light turns green and Thomas presses the gas. There’s a song on the radio, something sad and longing, and he presses the mute button without hesitation. 

It’s a little over two hours later when he pulls into Monticello. The trees have lost most of their leaves by now, leaving them patchy and bare, but it’s not an unwelcomed sight. The gravel of the driveway crackles under the tires of Thomas’s car, and his shoulders deflate a little as he first catches sight of the great dome sitting atop his estate. He is back in Virginia, back at Monticello, and it feels like he’s back on neutral ground. 

He takes a breath. 

Thomas parks his car by the house, and grabs Locke’s carrying case from the passenger seat. She lets out a sharp meow and Thomas taps against the top of the cage. A laugh of sorts falls from his mouth, because it seems like even she knows that Monticello is a place of warmth and protection. It is his house, the one he had designed himself, and it is perfect. 

Thomas pushes open the door, the sole of his shoes crinkling in the white and grey gravel, and he hip checks the door shut behind him. 

The flowers lining the walkway are mostly dead, the cold weather having left them wilted, and Thomas doesn’t fail to see the irony of it. 

He walks down the small path that leads to the East side of the house, pushing open the glass doors to the Entrance Room and taking a deep breath. The sun is low in the sky, hues of soft white light streaming in through the windows of the parlor bathing the house in its glow. 

Thomas releases Locke from the cage, watching as she scampers across the allegedly teal floor into the parlor, where she climbs into Thomas’s favourite chair. He sighs looking at her there, the nostalgia for his home state heavy in his heart, before he turns and shuts the glass door behind him. It's then that his eyes catch on the bust that sits on a perch in the upper right of the room. 

It is smooth white marble, crafted in perfect likeness of his once rival, current love interest, and forever soulmate.  Ceracchi had somehow managed to capture Alexander’s personality in marble, and as Thomas looks at the bust, he can see the wrinkles between Alexander’s eyebrows, the curve of his lips - as if he’s two seconds away from saying something ridiculously intelligent but all too idealistic at the same time. 

He turns away from the bust, eyes trailing along the maps that hang on the walls, and reminds himself to ask Claude to cover it. He’s in Monticello for two reasons: to sulk in private and to get away from Alexander. A bust of the man would only serve to remind Thomas of his own humiliation. Of his own ruin. 

Before his thoughts can grow too morbid, the door on the right opens. Thomas looks up, expecting Claude to be doing his rounds, and blinks in surprise when his eyes find James. He’s dressed down, in a pair of dark jeans and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he’s looking at Thomas with a look of exasperated fondness. 

“James,” Thomas says in surprise, “What are you doing here?”

James shuts the door to his room (or, well, it’s practically his room at this point, he stays here so often) and says, “I could ask you the same thing.” 

Thomas blinks. “I, uh, I live here. Where’s Claude?” 

“I sent him home.” His friend raises an unamused eyebrow, “Why are you in Virginia, Thomas?”

“It’s such a beautiful day outside,” Thomas says, side stepping James’ question with a practiced ease, “Why don’t we sit in the tea room? We can open the windows and enjoy the sunset.”

James sighs, and he knows he must be wondering why he’s put up with Thomas for this long, but the man follows him down the hall and through the dining room regardless. Thomas opens the windows with practiced ease, the cool Virginian air flowing through the room as soon as he pushes them up. It’s then that Thomas takes a seat at the small table and watches as James follows suit. 

He doesn’t get a second of a reprieve before James is clearing his throat and asking again, “What happened with Hamilton that made you come back to Virginia?”

Thomas doesn’t know why he’s so hesitant to confess what happened. He supposes it's because he’s embarrassed, and it has a little something to do with the fact that James knew this would happen. He had called it months ago, sitting in Thomas’s office and talking in hushed whispers. 

_ “I can’t believe you actually backed Hamilton’s bill,” James had said out of nowhere, making Thomas look up from where he was drafting a proposal for the House. _

_ “He gave me the funds I need to send to France, albeit unknowingly. The least I could do was get his assumption bill through Congress. It’s not like assumption alone will be big enough to make any changes.” _

_ “And that’s it?” He could tell by his friend’s voice that the man was unconvinced, “It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re soulmates?” _

_ “Of course not.” He scoffed, “I’m capable of separating work from my personal life.” _

_ “Are you?” James said. _

_ “I’m handling things just fine, I’d say.” Thomas responded easily, tapping his pen against the desk, the words for the House stolen from his mind by James’s change in topic.  _

_ “I don’t know if I’d consider avoidance 'handling things just fine,’ Thomas.” James’s words were unimpressed, his eyebrows raised and lips pursed.  _

_ Thomas sighed, dropping the pen and letting it fall against the papers in front of him, “I have no idea what you mean, Jemmy. I’d say things are quite swell, no? Besides, I don’t know what else you would expect me to do about it?” _

_ “I don’t know, maybe tell him? Don’t you think he deserves to know?” James responded, his voice the epitome of rationale.  _

_ It annoyed Thomas to no end. “It’s my decision. I’ve already told you.” _

_ “Why don’t you want him to know?” James pressed for the one millionth time since Thomas had caved and told him just who his soulmate was.  _

_ “Because it’s none of his business.” Thomas snapped back, forgetting himself for a second and letting his anger and frustration get the best of him. He cooled his temper in a second and shook his head apologetically at his friend.  _

_ “Thomas, you can’t hide forever. Sooner or later it’s going to get out.” _

_ And Thomas knew this. He knew this, and yet he couldn’t help but hide behind his leather gloves and hope it was not for a long time. He sighed, heavy and long, and said, “Then I’ll just pray for later.” _

_ Madison was quiet for a long moment, his eyes looking at Thomas warmly, then he finally said, “Well, when every wall you’ve built around yourself finally falls, you know I’ll be here to pick up the pieces with you.” _

“Thomas?” James asks and it snaps Thomas from his own thoughts long enough to remember that the man had asked him a question. 

“Maybe I just wanted to come back. You know how much I miss Monticello when I’m in the city.” Thomas says, keeping his voice steady, even as James leans back in the chair and fixes Thomas with a knowing look. 

“You’ve been back to Monticello  _ once _ since you started working for Washington. Don’t try and play this off Thomas, you told me yourself that you needed to stay in D.C. in case someone were to need you. At first I thought you were referring to politics, but it didn’t take much to realize you were talking about Alexander. You don’t have time to come home on the weekends if you’re busy going on not-dates with Alexander.” James says slowly, like he’s slowly convincing himself, “But you’re here now.”

“I am.”

James’s frown dips in the corners, “You can tell me what happened. I promise to reserve my judgement for Hamilton and Hamilton alone.”

Thomas looks at James, at his careful and genuine interest, and deflates in his seat. He looks up at the high white ceilings and sighs, “Alexander knows.”

His gaze flickers back fast enough to see James’s look of surprise, “You finally told him? Thomas, that’s great. I-”

His voice cuts off and his eyebrows furrow, “If you told Alexander, then why aren’t you in D.C. getting your ass railed by him right now? Don’t tell me he doesn’t feel the same way, because I know him, Thomas, and that man is in love with you.”

“I’m a top so if anyone was getting their ass railed, it’d be Hamilton, thank you very much.” He says, looking affronted when James scoffs at that, but continues on nonetheless, “And I, uh, didn’t tell him, per say.”

James blinks, “What do you mean you didn’t tell him? I’m the only other person that knows. I mean, well, Martha has her suspicions - especially after the Gala - but she wouldn’t tell him.”

Thomas turns his defeated expression towards James, and watches the exact moment the man puts it together. His eyes widen only slightly, lips parting, and he breathes out a sigh. 

“He figured it out himself, didn’t he?”

Thomas nods and allows himself to pity the situation for a moment, “I gave myself away. He put it together not too long after that. Started yelling and then I may have lost my cool a little.”

James tilts his head, considering, “Lost your cool?”

“I may or may not have told him to go fuck himself, or something along those lines.” Thomas manages to keep his wince under control. 

“Why in the hell would you tell him to go fuck himself? You’re supposed to be doing that for him, Jeusus, it’s like you’re trying to ruin your own life.”

Thomas keeps his mostly blank expression, “He wasn’t supposed to find out like that. He was supposed to fall in love with me first.”

“I mean, I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. Honestly, I’m surprised it took him this long. Your gloves aren’t exactly subtle.”

“You know why I wear the gloves.”

“Yeah, I do.” James replies, “And I also know that what happened to Peter was rare. Stuff like that doesn’t happen very often, Thomas.”

“And yet I saw it happen, James. I had to stand there and watch my brother, my younger brother, sob over the casket of his ex-girlfriend. They weren’t soulmates but he loved her. Soulmates can be great, they can be your perfect half, but I saw firsthand that sometimes they aren’t.”

James sighs, and his eyes flicker to the gardens just outside the window, “I get that what happened to Peter kind of screwed you on the idyllic soulmate fantasy, but do you honestly believe Alexander is capable of something like that? You’ve seen the man, Thomas, he doesn’t exactly scream intimidating.”

“No, of course I don’t think he would ever do that. But, James, what exactly would I get out of this? If I told Alexander when we first met - when he hated me - he would have been disgusted. I couldn’t handle that rejection then and I can’t handle it now.”

“And what stopped you from telling him after? You two have been close for awhile now, since the Assumption Bill passed the Senate. Why didn’t you just tell him?”

Thomas inhales a deep breath of the Virginia air (God, how he had missed air that wasn’t cloaked in chemicals) and runs his fingers through his hair. “I know you’re under the impression that Alexander returns my feelings, but I don’t know that. If he had rejected me, I would have had to quit my job. Hell, I’m thinking about resigning now.”

“Thomas, I am telling you that he is in love with you. You didn’t see him the night of the Gala, you didn’t see the way he was acting like a jealous lover, and I’m assuming you didn’t read into the way he was practically swooning in your arms when you danced.”

“And so what if he is?” Thomas snaps back, his words breaking, “What exactly do I get out of this? He’s with me for what? A couple months, maybe a year, and then he gets bored and realizes that I am not enough for him, and then I get dumped on my ass, and I’m alone again.”

His breathing is a little unsteady when he finishes speaking and he has to close his eyes. He had given too much away, once again, and now he was going to pay the price of it-

“ _ That’s _ what this is about?” James says, incredulous, “Thomas, how many times do I have to tell you that you are enough. I get that your self esteem isn’t the best, but you’re biased. You don’t see what I see, and you sure as hell don’t see what Alexander - your soulmate - sees. You are one of the best people I know, and I know Hamilton sees it too. He already knows that you’re soulmates, you might as well just rip the bandaid the rest of the way off and tell him that you’re in love with him.”

Thomas looks up at the white bust of Washington that’s perched on the wall above them, his gaze dragging from Washington to Lafayette, then from Franklin to Jones, and he slumps into the seat. 

“I’ll think about it. I have a week until I’m due back in D.C. I’m sure I can come up with a plan before then.”

James doesn’t look impressed, “Maybe try and make it a little better than your last one?”

He ignores that comment and watches as Locke makes herself known, wobbling into the room and curling around Thomas’s chair leg. She meows loudly, sounding annoyed, and Thomas has never felt so in sync with her before. 

James stays with Thomas that night, and then throughout the week. It is both a blessing and a curse, because James doesn’t allow Thomas to sulk like he wants to. He had intended to use the week to mope in bed and lick his wounds, but James subtly finds ways to get him up each morning. The man wakes Thomas up with coffee everyday at a quarter till nine, and then they share breakfast in the parlor, with Locke purring under the table. 

Claude isn’t there which gives James the excuse to force Thomas into the kitchen again - a place he stopped enjoying long ago, and they laugh as they cut vegetables and James throws chopped up pieces of carrots into Thomas’s hair. 

It’s James who convinces him to go on long walks through the gardens, walks that provide a nice break from the constant - and frankly overwhelming - internal monologue that streams through his head. His focus is on the tall trees surrounding the estate, the cool breeze through his clothes, and the wilted flowers that he knows will be back in bloom during the spring. 

Its James, too, that convinces Thomas not to cover the bust of Alexander in the Entrance Hall. It James who is there everytime Thomas’s anxiety gets the best of him, when the thought of returning to Washington D.C. is enough to give him a migraine, and it is James who tucks Thomas back into bed and pulls the blinds shut, reading to him from his worn copy of the Bible, until the pain recedes enough that they can venture outside the house once more. 

It is a soothing and methodical routine that Thomas finds relief in. 

All in all, he is lucky to have a friend like James. 

He is there, a constant and welcomed presence, and Thomas thinks it might be the only thing that gets him through the week in one piece. There is no time to wallow in self pity about Alexander and about what happened and about what he’s going to do when James is there, right beside him, talking to Thomas with so much passion and inspiration in his voice. They talk of politics, of the impending war between France and England, of philosophy, of agriculture and literature. It’s a side of James, a side so devoutly passionate and interested, that he allows few people to see. Some get a glimpse, on the occasion that James speaks during Senate meetings. Dolley sees it, is blessed with it, and then there is Thomas. 

They are self proclaimed best friends, and Thomas doesn’t know where he’d be if he didn’t have James Madison in his life. 

“We should get takeout tonight. Celebrate that you’re going back to D.C. tomorrow.” James says from where he’s camped out on the couch next to him, pulling Thomas from his thoughts. James looks comfortable, a throw pillow under his legs and a knitted blanket across his lap, eyes focused on a worn copy of  _ Don Quixote.  _

Thomas blinks at the ceiling fan, “If you want.”

He hears more than sees James turn to look at him, “Anything in particular you’re craving?”

“Fre-”

“I swear to God, if you say French cuisine I will throw this book at you.” James interrupts him with an eyeroll, “You can’t have French food or macaroni and cheese for every meal, Thomas.”

James sighs and it makes the corners of Thomas’s mouth twitch up, “I’m thirty-two years old, I can do whatever I damn please.”

“Say something besides French or I’m ordering Thai.”

Thomas grins up at the ceiling and waits a beat before he says, “French.”

He can literally hear James’s eye roll this time. “Fine, but I’m only agreeing because you’ve had a shit turn of luck this past week.”

“I’ll take my usual,” Thomas says, trying not to dwell too hard on the reminder of Alexander, ‘Thanks James.”

“Yeah, yeah. Next time you’re down, though, we’re getting Thai.”

“Deal.” Thomas replies, turning his gaze back to the ceiling fan and not paying James any mind as he exits the room, presumably to order their food. 

He sits there, just staring at the circling fan above him, until the chime of his own phone, tucked into his back pocket, gets his attention. 

He’s expecting a message from Martha or maybe a text from Lafayette now that Hamilton has - no doubt - confirmed the man’s suspicions from the night of the bar. Instead, he sees a new email. 

The second he glances at the screen, his heart starts to pound too hard against his ribcage. He hasn’t opened the email yet, but the preview is enough to knock him off the carefully balanced peace he had somehow achieved. 

All he can focus on is Alexander’s name. 

~Hamilton, Alexander (aham@exect.gov)   
Subject: Fwd: Reminer Representative Dinner in January

He checks the email just to prove to himself that Alexander wasn’t emailing him alone. He’s right, as he usually is, and that Alex had forwarded the meeting to the entire cabinet, but Thomas’s heart doesn’t stop racing in his chest. 

Because as much as he doesn’t want to read into it, Thomas can’t help it. To forward the email, Alexander would have had to type Thomas’s name in. He would have had to knowingly add him to the message, and it doesn’t seem like much, but Thomas can’t help and cling to the idea that maybe, just maybe, things might be okay. 

He knows he’s lost any chance he had of having a relationship with the man, although he still doesn’t think there was ever much of a chance in the first place (this is Alexander they’re talking about. He’s too perfect for his own good) Thomas thinks that - maybe - they can still work together. It hurts to think that with one wrong slip of the tongue, the perfectly built alliance between them was going to be ruined. 

Thomas knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’ll take Alexander being in his life anyway he can get him. Even if it means just being colleagues. Because, at this point, something is better than nothing. 

He quickly locks his phone when James returns, and if the man notices how thoroughly thrown off Thomas is, he - thankfully - doesn’t comment on it. Instead he settles back on the couch, close enough for Thomas to feel his warmth, and continues to read quietly to himself. Thomas takes a steadying breath and turns his attention back to the ceiling fan. 

James leaves that night after dinner, after making Thomas promise that he would return to D.C. the next day. Thomas, begrudgingly, agrees - even though the thought is almost too much. He knows, however, that putting it off will only make the eventual consequences worse. He’ll have to return to D.C. sometime - at the very least to hand in his resignation to Washington - and it’s better to bite the bullet and get it over with. 

It’s that night, when he’s finally completely alone for the first time all week, that Thomas decides he needs to do a little soul searching before he returns to the city. James and his thoughtful questions has Thomas grasping for straws trying to justify his decisions, and if he does run into Alexander, he knows the man is going to have questions too - well, that’s if Alex even acknowledges that Thomas exists. 

After the way things ended the last time they saw each other, Thomas wouldn’t be surprised if Alexander just completely pretended like nothing happened. It seems like the kind of thing he would do. 

But Thomas doesn’t know if he has the capacity to do it too. 

So it's that night, after soaking for an hour in his bathtub (with a lavender bath bomb, of course) that he crawls into his sheets and decides that there’s no more time to put it off. He returns to D.C. in the morning, and he’d like to have it all figured out by then. 

Locke jumps up onto the bed, burrowing into the comforter and resting under Thomas’s chin, and he doesn’t hesitate to drag his fingers through her soft fur. 

“What am I even doing?” Thomas says, looking down at the cat who’s curled around his arm. She butts her head against his shoulder blade and Thomas’s lips curl at the sight. 

It isn’t hard to admit what he feels for Alexander. He knows, without a doubt, that he is in love. It’s the only possible explanation. He thinks of the way he feels when he’s around the man, how he feels like he’s burning up from the inside, how he has to consciously fight the blush that almost constantly tries to creep up on his cheeks. 

It hasn’t always been like this, though. Thomas had gone through plan A and plan B before he ended up where he is now, with a pieced together plan C that exploded in his face. 

He closes his eyes and thinks back to all the moments, the best moments, that he shared with Alexander. He isn’t one for living in the past, but he hasn’t deluded himself into thinking that Alexander could ever forgive him for this. Just like he isn’t quite sure he can forgive Alexander either. 

So, if reliving past memories is the best he can get, then Thomas is going to take it. He forces all other thoughts from his mind, and decides that it’s time to relive their greatest (and not so greatest) hits. 

And maybe, if he’s lucky, he can piece together exactly what went wrong along the way. 

He thinks back to the first time he met Alexander, properly that is, and the image comes to his mind easily. It feels like yesterday was the first time he laid eyes on him, on Alexander - his soulmate. 

Washington had introduced them and Thomas had seen that first glimpse of blue on Alexander’s jacket and he had froze. He doesn’t remember what he said to greet them, doesn’t remember shaking Alexander’s hand, and he doesn’t remember excusing himself from the office. 

The only thing he remembers is walking down the hallway, trying in vain to keep himself from completely losing it, trying to get rid of the claustrophobic sensation that welled up inside him - telling him that this was without a doubt the worst way the situation that could possibly be. 

That was wishful thinking on his part. 

_ His thoughts were flying too fast, moving from one bad outcome to a new outcome completely worse. It felt like anxiety was crawling up his chest, wrapping around his neck, threatening to strangle him to death. Thomas couldn’t breath, his body too hot - too much around him- surrounding him, suffocating him-  _

_ He pulled the gloves from his hands without thought, needing to take a moment to run his hands across his eyes. There was a voice from down the hall, and he turned quickly to the right, pushing open the door to a random supply closet - the doorknob cold against his bare skin - and he only offered it a breif thought of, “fuck,” before leaning back against the closed door and closing his eyes.  _

_ It was just a doorknob. Maybe Alexander wouldn’t notice.  _

That was his first mistake. 

It was there, in that closet on the third floor, that Thomas knew what he had to do. He couldn’t tell Alexander, couldn’t risk the man feeling like he owed Thomas feelings just because they were soulmates. So he would push him away. He didn’t want Alexan- Hamilton to hate him, but - at the very least - it’d keep Thomas from getting his heart broken. 

There wasn’t a different option. If Alexander found out, he’d convince himself he had feelings for Thomas, instead of actually falling in love with him. And what then? It would be just like he feared. Alexander would get bored, he’d realize he was miserable, and he’d leave. 

It’s simple logic. Hurt them before they can hurt you. 

Not the healthiest attitude, and his mama would slap him upside the head if she knew how he was justifying this to himself. But she was right, all those years ago, when she said he has always been his own worst enemy. 

He wasn’t stopping himself from being happy, he was keeping himself from getting his heart ripped to shreds and thrown to the flames. 

Thomas ignores the pain in his chest at the thought of his mother, and squeezes his eyes shut tighter, moving onto the next memory. 

He thinks of that night, when James had - somehow - convinced Thomas into going back to Rocky’s. They had arrived just after work and Thomas was looking forward to drinking a little, working off the steam from finding his soulmate, and then- 

_ “What’ll it be Hammie?” The bartender - Caleb was his name if James was correct - asked as Thomas saw movement of colour out of hiss prherpiel.  _

_ In an instant, his spine straightened of its own accord but he forced his gaze to stay plastered on the bar. He didn’t want to see Hamilton. He didn’t want to fucking think of him.  _

_ “Just give me some shots. Don't care what, as long as they're pink." _

_ “Can do. Give me just a minute.” _

_ Thomas saw James shoot a small smile at Hamilton and he didn’t hesitate to mouth, “Traitor.” _

_ “Madison,” Hamilton said, and God, how was it fair for him to have a voice that sounded like that? _

_ “Hamilton.” James replied, like they were best fucking friends and Thomas couldn’t help but roll his eyes. James saw it, without a doubt, but continued on, “Should have figured you’d be here.” _

_ “Maybe you could have informed me of that before I agreed to come,” Jefferson hissed under his breath. He had come with the obvious desire to be away from Hamilton, and out of all the bars James could have picked, he had to pick the one he knew Hamilton would be at? _

_ “Come on, Tommy,” Hamilton said, his lips spread into a smile that did unfair things to Thomas’s chest, “Don’t be like that.” _

_ “Please leave me the fuck alone.” He responded, trying to keep his facade of annoyance.  _

_ “Come on, sugga, don’t be like that.”  _

_ Thomas only glared in response, which was apparently too much for Hamilton, who broke out into a loud laugh. It was a beautiful sound, but Thomas couldn’t fully appreciate it because almost in the same moment, Hamilton’s hand brushed against his arm.  _

_ The colour changed before his own eyes. Once pristine white had morphed into a purple colour - magenta, he thinks. It was a reminder he didn’t need, a reminder that Hamilton was his soulmate, and that they would never, ever be able to be as the universe intended they should.  _

_ “Don’t touch me.” He forced himself to say, even though his head was spinning from the slight touch. It hadn’t been more than a brush, but he could feel the way the heat from Hamilton’s hand bleed through his clothing.  _

_ “Yesh,” Alex said, and Thomas thought he might have rolled his eyes, “Someone’s touchy.” _

_ Caleb - thankfully - choose that moment to return with the shots Hamilton had ordered. He had hoped that that would have been the end of it, but then Hamilton pushed the shots closer to Thomas and asked, “These pink?” _

_ Thomas’s gaze flickered to the shot glasses - grey and like sludge - before he looked back at Hamilton and said, as evenly as possible, “I don’t know.” _

_ “Yes, Hamilton,” Madison interrupted, “They’re pink.” _

_ He saw Hamilton’s eyebrows raise a little as he looked from James back to Thomas, before he shrugged, “Thanks man.” _

_ Hamilton left after that and as soon as he turned his back, Thomas looked down at his once perfect jacket and groaned, “A ruined fucking jacket.” _

_ James only raised an eyebrow and hummed in response.  _

_ When he finally managed to drag James out of the bar two hours later, he purposely decided to leave the jacket behind. He didn’t need the reminder.  _

It was the next day that he had lost his temper - again - during a cabinet meeting. In his defense, when he found out Hamilton was his soulmate, he never thought the man would be an idyllic Federalist that wanted to single-handedly ruin the government. He also didn’t think the man would cut his fucking budget. 

There had been choice words thrown around and Thomas can admit that he said some things he shouldn’t have, but it didn’t compare to what Hamilton had said when he followed Thomas back to his office. 

It feels like ages ago that they tossed hurtful words back and forth. He can’t imagine saying anything similar to Alexander, even now, and he can hardly believe he even said them the first time. Even if it was his sole goal to push the man away. 

_ “You fucking douchebag.” Alexander had hissed, and Thomas was almost - almost - surprised by the amount of hatred in his voice. “Thanks to you and your fucking stupidity, we’re stuck with Burr.” _

_ He scoffed, “Maybe if you weren’t so incompetent at your job, we wouldn’t be here!” _

_ “Maybe if you could get your head out of your own ass for a moment, you’d realize I literally cannot justify giving the Department of State an extra 30 billion dollars!” Alexander yelled back at him, his volume getting louder with each word he said.  _

_ Thomas could feel his heart pick up in his chest, mind going straight to the defensive, “If you’d look past your own damn interests, you’d see that you literally could!” _

_ “Well I might, if you weren’t such a fucking prick!”  _

_ “Fuck you,” He bit back, barely able to think because of the constant reminder in his head to push Hamilton away. To push him as far away as possible. It helpeed immensly that the man was about as dumb as someone could be, “Fuck you and your face, and those clothes you wear that you think make you fit in. Spoiler alert: we all know where you came from.” _

_ And that was a line he shouldn’t have crossed.  _

_ “Well fuck you!” Hamilton had snapped, “Fuck you and fuck Virginia and fuck literally everything about you! Fuck your stupid ass politics, and your stupid coats, and those stupid ass fucking gloves!” _

_ The comment on his gloves made Thomas freeze. He was waiting, waiting for Hamilton to say something he couldn’t take back.  _

_ And then, surprise, he did.  _

_ “I feel sorry for your soulmate. I can’t imagine being stuck with someone like you for the rest of my life.” _

_ And even if it was what he was expecting to hear, even if it was what he wanted to hear, it still hurt like hell. He felt exposed, like every emotion was written plainly across his face, and he immediately cooled his expression. He had done it, he had pushed Hamilton far far away, but there was no gratification. There was no joy. There was no relief.  _

_ There was only disappointment.  _

_ It was ironic that he had decided to push Hamilton away in an effort to avoid disappointment and to avoid hurt, and yet had still ended up there in the end. It was some MacBeth level shit that Thomas fucking hated. He took a breath, making sure the careful facade was back on his face before he replied, “I’m sure you can see yourself out, Mr. Secretary.”  _

_ And then Thomas left.  _

To give credit where credit is due, Alexander had tried to apologize. Thomas didn’t care to listen, though, because he really didn’t want to hear a half assed apology that he didn’t actually mean. 

And then Burr happened. 

He replays the emails between them in his head, remembers how annoyed he had been by Burr, and how much he actually enjoyed messaging Alex. It was stupid, their messages were immature, but it was the first real bit of ground they broke. 

And then, after Thomas stayed to back Alexander up to Washington, the man followed him back to his office - again. 

_ “If we want to get rid of Burr, the only way we can do that is to figure out the budget.” Hamilton said, his words serious for once, “We have to compromise.” _

_ Thomas sunk down in his seat, closing his eyes and replaying Burr’s words from the meeting. He was trying to ruin Thomas’s long term plan for France and Thomas had to, somehow, keep the whole thing together without giving himself away. It was too early. He had to do something.  _

_ He could feel the anticipatory energy radiating off Hamilton and he blinked open his eyes, trying to beg - without actually saying it - for the man to take a break for three seconds to let Thomas think.  _

_ “In case you missed the part of Burr’s presentation where he proposed we completely restructure the foreign aid in France, I’ll remind you. What he’s proposing would completely change all my plans, so I have to draw up a new comparison policy, and it's going to take me awhile.”  _

_ “Jefferson, don’t you under-” _

_ "Alexander,” Thomas said, cursing himself for how good the word sounded on his tongue, “Can this please wait?” _

_ Thankfully, Alexander relented. His voice was almost soft when he responded, “Yeah, of course it can. I’ll email you the new changes I’ve made, and you can look over them when you have a moment.”  _

_ Alexander turned towards the door, stopping for a second to look over his shoulder, “Have a good night, Secretary Jefferson.”  _

_ Thomas blinked up from his desk and offered a smile, only a little touched, and said, “You too, Alexander.” _

_ And as soon as the door shut behind him, Thomas dropped his head onto the desk.  _

And that was the moment that plan A failed. 

It was all downhill - or uphill he supposes - from there. Thomas had convinced himself that they could be friends. It wasn’t perfect but no plan B ever is. He could do this; he could make this work. 

Thomas had agreed to help Alexander get his Assumption Bill passed the Senate, they had worked on it through dinner (not a date, he had to remind himself), and then they had actually started to get along. And it was nice getting along with him, being allies with him. It was nice when Alexander had hugged him - like instinct- when his bill got passed. It was nice when he had brought Thomas lunch - even if James was relentless in his teasing about it. 

And then Thomas had caved when Alexander asked, and he had told him about the Peter and Jane situation. Well, he told him half the truth. He had said that Jane was a friend, and while she was, she was also his brother’s girlfriend. 

So he downplayed it a little, sue him. 

It was that night, when he walked Alexander to his car, that Thomas finally realized just how in over his head he was. 

_ “This is me.” Alexander had said, and Thomas tried not to curse the Gods. He had wanted a little longer, just a little longer, to be with him.  _

_ He nodded in response, making no move to leave quite yet. He was standing too close to be unintentional, and part of him - a part of him that he was only starting to listen to - prayed that Alexander looked into it.  _

_ Alexander had glanced down at the ground and Thomas couldn’t help the way his eyes trailed along the man’s face. He was handsome, too damn handsome, and it was tempting in all the ways it shouldn’t be. Alexander had looked back up, his gaze finding Thomas’s, and they were so close.  _

_ Thomas could lean in if he wanted to, just a little, and kiss him.  _

_ The thought was a little ridiculous and it made his lips quirk on the side. He watched, his lungs burning in his chest, as Alexander’s eyes followed the motion.  _

_ He leaned a little closer, just to see what Alexander would do, and watched as the man looked back up - staring unblinking back at him.  _

_ Thomas was two seconds away from saying, “To hell with it,” and kissing Alexander before he reminded himself that if he kissed Alexander, the man would know.  _

_ He had a plan: plan B. Thomas wasn’t going to ruin it, not yet. They could be friends, just friends.  _

_ He couldn’t help wanting to test his luck, though, so he bent down, watching as Alex tensed up beside him. He lowered his lips to the man’s ear and then he whispered, ““Goodnight, Alexander.”  _

_ He forced himself to pull away and the second he did, Alexander stepped forward and rested his hands on Thomas’s chest. It sucked the air from his lungs, surprising him, and then when Alex looked up at Thomas it was through his lashes.  _

_ Just friends, he reminded himself. Plan B. They were just friends.  _

_ “Goodnight.” _

_ He had to stand there for a moment, trying to force himself not to break every rule he’d ever cared about and to press Alexander against the man’s car. He took a breath, managing a smile and convincing himself to pull away, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” _

_ Alex smiled back at him, too charming and handsome and tempting, “Tomorrow.” _

_ Thomas turned on his heels, walking back towards his own car, trying to ignore how loud his heartbeat sounded in his ears.  _

It was then that Thomas knew that plan B failed too. 

The first time things really changed for Thomas, when he started seeing Alexander as someone that might actually accept Thomas - without the soulmate part - was when Alexander had asked him out for drinks with some of his other friends. 

That was the night that Thomas came up with plan C. 

It was a compromise. Not nearly as perfect as plan A or B, but he thought it might actually work. He thought he might actually be able to pull it off. 

Once again, it was wishful thinking. 

He had left Martha halfway through dinner, telling her that he was supposed to meet up with Alexander for drinks, and she had been completely understanding. There was the wagging of her eyebrows and Thomas had only rolled his eyes in response, and assured her that it really wasn’t like that. 

Even if he was starting to realize that it was completely like that. 

It was sometime between Alexander - drunk and loose - as Thomas led him around the room in a dance he’d learned back in highschool and Alexander finally relaxing on Thomas’s lap - Thomas’s hand on his thigh - that he had made the compromise with himself. 

Thomas’s biggest fear was that Alexander, upon realizing that they were soulmates, would rush into pushing himself to have feelings for Thomas. The thought that Alexander might convince himself that he liked Thomas - hell, maybe even loved him - just because they were soulmates was unbearable. He didn’t want that, he didn’t want Alexander to want him- not if it didn’t actually mean anything. 

But at the same time, Thomas was done lying to himself. He was done pretending like he wasn’t completely and utterly, irrevocably in love with the man. He was done pushing him away or trying to be just friends. 

He wanted Alexander Hamilton. 

So sitting there, Alexander’s head on his chest and his hair tickling Thomas’s neck, he came up with plan C. 

If Alexander fell in love with him before Thomas told him that they were soulmates, then he could rest assured that Alexander’s feelings were real. They weren’t the result of circumstance or fate, but real emotion. 

So, he wasn’t going to tell Alexander that they were soulmates. But, if Alexander happened to decide he had feelings for Thomas and made a move, then Thomas wouldn’t stop him. In the end, it was Alexander’s choice. 

He would keep his mouth shut, biding his time and waiting for Alexander.

Plan C. 

It was around that time that Lafayette had started teasing Thomas, talking in rapid fire French about the half asleep man in his lap. Thomas had only rolled his eyes at the teasing, at the remarks about marriage, and held Alexander a little closer. 

That night was the night that Alexander had asked Thomas to stay. It was tempting, too damn tempting, and he wanted nothing more than to read into Alexander’s words and curl up next to him. 

But Alexander had been drunk. And Thomas couldn’t live with himself if he’d thrown them into dangerous territory because he thought drunk thoughts actually correlated with sober ones. 

So he left. 

It was the day after Washington sent out the reminder of the Senate Gala that Thomas decided to take a more active role in the whole, “Getting Alex to fall in love with me,” plan. He had waited for the perfect moment, when they were arm in arm walking back from lunch with Eliza, and then he brought up the Gala. 

_ “Well, are you going?” Thomas asked, trying his best to be both subtle enough that he didn’t scare Alex off but obvious enough that the man would get the hint.  _

_ Alex, of course, didn’t. “Why?” _

_ “I’m trying to figure out who will be in attendance before I decide if it’s worth my time or not.” Thomas said, trying to put a little more emphasis on his words. Come on, the man couldn’t actually be that oblivious, right? _

_ “Maybe I’ll go, but I really don’t want to show up alone.” _

_ Thomas was quiet for a moment, mentally psyching himself up and to just grow a pair big enough to ask the question that Alexander had perfectly set him up for.  _

_ “If you wanted, we could go tog-” _

_ “Lafayette will prob-” _

_ They talked at the same time. Being the Southern gentleman that he is, Thomas was quick to tell Alexander to continue first.  _

_ “Lafayette will no doubt drag me as his date. Adrienne isn’t coming to the states for another couple weeks, so he’ll probably force me to go.” _

_ He had to try very hard to keep the disappointment off his face. He had been so close, so sure, that Alexander was interested in him. It was too soon to do anything else, and Thomas had made himself a promise.  _

_ Plan C.  _

_ If things between them were to ever progress past friends, it was Alex’s choice to make.  _

_ He saw the man looking at him, and tried to come up with some sort of response that didn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. “Ah, I see.” _

_ “What were you going to say? Before I interrupted you.” Alexander asked, a smile on his face as he was - no doubt - completely oblivious to Thomas’s thoughts.  _

_ Jesus, out of all the people he had to be a soulmate with, he got stuck with the most oblivious person on the fucking planet? Excellent. Really, it’s excellent.  _

_ He wiped the emotions off his face, replacing them with a small smile, and shook his head, “You know, I don’t even remember.” _

_ Alexander was smiling the rest of the trip, and Thomas was able to hide his disappointment fairly well. He’d just go get drunk the next night, take his frustration out on a bottle of wine, and probably drunk dial James. It was his usual go to method, and it hadn’t failed him yet.  _

But that next night, Thomas’s go to method finally failed him for the first time. Just the thought, just replaying the night in his head, is enough to make him cringe in embarrassment. 

He remembers when Alexander had shown up beside him, he remembers the drunk flirting before they got in the car, he remembers the way he had been so ready to throw all caution to the wind and just kiss Alexander. 

But he made a promise to himself, and drunk or not, Thomas Jefferson keeps a promise. 

However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t get Alexander to make the first move. 

He had pulled out all the stops. He had finally confessed all the thoughts he had kept hidden for so long. Hell, he had told Alexander that he thought he was perfect. 

But, of course, the man didn’t look into it. 

And Thomas was slowly starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, Alexander wasn’t quite as perceptive as people made him out to be. 

He thinks about that next morning, when he had woken to Alexander jabbing him in the side. Thomas had been equal parts embarrassed and in pain, still trying to string together all the memories from the prior night. 

Alexander had nudged him again, harder, and Thomas only groaned in response. 

_ “I’m sleepin’.” _

_ When Alexander spoke, his voice was rough and a little hoarse and Thomas had to shift in the bed to keep his lower half from getting too interested in just how good he sounded like that. “It’s Madison.” _

_ “Okay? Tell him I’m asleep.”  _

_ Through the fog of sleep, Thomas could hear Alexander’s muttering to James.  _

_ And then, clear as hell, he heard, “He said if you don’t get on the phone right now, he’s going to tell Martha what actually happened to her Chanel bag.  _

_ Thomas tensed up just a little and peeked one eye open. He reached out to grab the phone from Alexander, feeling the man roll beneath him, and leaving Thomas almost completely draped across him. Alexander only blinked up at him, curiously, so Thomas thought that maybe it was okay.  _

_ “What do you want?” Thomas said into the phone, his voice not really sounding like his own.  _

_ Madison sounded amused on the other end, “So, did you guys sleep together?” _

_ Thomas sighed, his eyes watching Alexander as he carefully replied, “Technically yes, but not in the way you think.”  _

_ “Seriously? Did I or did I not tell you to just make a move?” _

_ “Yeah but you don’t have to be an asshole about it.” _

_ He finished up the conversations with James rather quickly, spending just a few more minutes close to Alexander, before he finally realized that he really needed to go collect his things from the bar.  _

_ He had dragged himself - rather reluctantly - from the bed and promised Alexander that he’d see him at the Gala that night.  _

_ “I can’t wait to see whatever horrendous thing you’re wearing.”  _

_ “Fuck you.” Thomas said in response as he left the room, already missing the heat that seemed to radiate off the other man. _

_ It was as he opened the door that he heard Alexander’s reply. “Fuck you too!” _

_ Yeah, he thought, I’m working on it.  _

If Thomas had thought he had it bad before, it was nothing compared to the night of the Gala. Maybe it was Alexander’s tux, or maybe it was the light, or maybe it was the universe giving Thomas another nudge, but when he finally turned around and laid eyes on Alexander, his heart had almost burst from his chest. 

That night was rather stifling and he didn’t know why exactly it was. He supposes now that perhaps it was because Alexander was under the impression that Martha was his soulmate. He doesn’t understand why that would make the man act as though he wanted to the ground to open up and swallow him whole, but Thomas can’t think of a single other thing. 

It is with thoughts of the Gala that come thoughts of their dance. 

If he focuses hard enough, he can still remember the way the heat from Alexander’s palm had bled through Thomas’s gloves when he asked to dance. 

_ Thomas had rested his hand on Alexander’s hip, wanting - craving - to be close to him. He had been dancing with Martha all night, when Alexander had disappeared and Martha had sent a knowing look his way before pulling him out on the floor. But this, this moment, was what he had wanted the entire time. He had wanted it when he first thought of asking Alexander, what he wanted when the man first spoke to him, and what he had wanted every second since.  _

_ Alexander had stumbled a little on his feet and Thomas couldn’t help the chuckle that fell from his lips as he tightened his hand just a little more on Alex’s hip. The man hadn’t pushed him off in disgust yet, so Thomas could only hope that he wasn’t reading into everything too much.  _

_ God, he really hoped he wasn’t reading into it.  _

_ “You know, this dance is a lot better than our last one.” Thomas found himself saying, looking down at Alexander.  _

_ “Well, I am a lot less horribly drunk out of my mind.” Alexander replied, the tops of his cheeks a little darker than the rest of his grey skin.  _

_ Alexander seemed to lose himself in thought then, and Thomas let him have a moment. Soon though, he became almost desperate to know what the other man was thinking.  _

_ “You look like you’re thinking pretty hard.”  _

_ Alexander looked back up at Thomas - finally meeting his eye - and huffed a small laugh, “I usually am.” _

_ He took the moment to raise his arm, leading Alexander through a quick spin. It was ridiculously cheesy, but Thomas wasn’t working with much. He needed every point he could get. He pulled Alexander back to him, holding him close, having immediately missed the warmth of the other man’s body against his own.  _

_ Thomas couldn’t deny his curiosity, “Anything you want to share with the class?” _

_ Alexander’s gaze was running along the length of Thomas’s face and he tried too hard not to look into it. But then Alexander smiled and shook his head, “It’s nothing important, I assure you.” _

_ He watched as Alexander’s gaze dropped lower and Thomas felt a particularly hard flush of heat when he realized Alexander was looking at his lips. Thomas arched an eyebrow, waiting for Alexander to finally accept what was between them, but then his gaze flickered back to Thomas’s and the man simply shook his head.  _

_ As much as he wanted to push the question, as much as he wanted to know what he was thinking, Thomas didn’t. He couldn’t. Not yet. Not ever.  _

_ Plan C and all that.  _

_ “Mmhm,” Thomas settled for the words that weren’t good enough, “Whatever you say, darling.” _

And then Thomas accidentally let it slip. He had been doing so well, always planning out his sentences a few seconds before he said them, trying not to focus on all the overwhelming colours that surrounded Alexander. 

And then he said the book next to the one with the blue cover and, in an instant, Alexander knew that Thomas had met his soulmate. 

He’ll never forget the look on Alexander’s face when Thomas told him that he couldn’t tell him who his soulmate was - he wouldn’t tell, because it would ruin everything. It would ruin every single damn thing. 

Plan A had failed, plan B had failed, and plan C was hanging by a thread. If this failed, Thomas wouldn’t have shit more to work with. He had to make it work, and making it work meant keeping his mouth shut until Alexander gave him more than friendly banter and a few pet names to work with. 

But, still, the look on Alex’s face. 

_ “What? Do you really think that I don’t trust you?” _

_ Alexander had looked away, and the thought that Alexander honestly thought Thomas didn’t trust him - that he didn’t think Thomas held him on a pedestal high above everyone else - was heartbreaking.  _

_ “I honestly don’t know, Thomas. We used to hate each other, and ever since we became friends we haven’t really talked about trust or anything like that.” _

_ Thomas almost couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. Did he honestly think Thomas thought so low of him? _

_ “I should just go,” Alexander said as he made a move towards the door.  _

_ Thomas didn’t let him get that far. He reached out of his own accord, his heart telling him to not let Alexander go, and managed to snag him by the wrist and spin him back around.  _

_ “I trust you.” He said, and he meant it.“You’re one of the few people that I do trust, Alexander. Please don’t ever think otherwise. This is just- it’s not something I can tell you right now.” _

_ Because Alexander had given him no reason to think that anything between them was real. Thomas had given him every opportunity and he was waiting, he was just waiting for Alexander to tell him that he loved him.  _

_ He reached up and brushed his fingers against Alexander’s cheek. He hummed lightly, the touch making his hand burn through the glove, but he stayed quiet.  _

_ Hoping, praying, that Alexander would just say it.  _

_ He didn’t, so Thomas rushed to fill in the silence.  _

_ “I want to tell you so badly. I can’t think of a single thing I want more than to tell you everything, to explain it to you, but I just can’t - not yet. Things are complicated, and I’m..”  _

_ He trailed off, wondering how he could finish that. Did he say, I’m in love with you, terrified of you leaving me, terrified of you being with me just because we’re soulmates, scared you won’t love me back. _

_ “You’re what?” Alexander pressed.  _

_ Instead of saying any of that, he settled on, “I’m scared.” _

And then John André entered the picture. Thomas can’t even lie and say that he wasn’t jealous. Because he was jealous. Hell, he’s still jealous. The thought of Alexander with someone - someone that isn’t Thomas - feels like ice in his veins. And he’s met André, he knows that the man is charming and that he’s hot and that he’s sweet, but he is not Thomas. 

And Thomas had honestly thought that that might make a difference to Alexander. 

Because he had been so sure. He had been so convinced that Alexander was getting there, that Alexander was falling in love with him too, but the entire thing had been some made up illusion - a projection of Thomas’s own wishes, that he had been an asshole when Alexander told him about his date. 

He had stuttered and stumbled his way out of Alexander’s office, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. 

That night, he hadn’t drank nearly enough to get the thought of Alexander and André out of his head. The thought of them - together - of André’s hands touching Alexander, of him smiling at Alexander, of Alex flirting with him made Thomas feel actually sick to his stomach. 

And when Lafayette had made a joke about Alexander going back to André’s house, Thomas realized - with a horrible sinking in his chest - that maybe Alexander didn’t love him back. Maybe he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t made a move not because he was oblivious, but because he didn’t want Thomas. 

It was that thought that had Thomas leaving Alexander on read.

And it was that thought that was in his head when Alexander showed up to the bar fifteen minutes later. 

Thomas knew he was being a dick. He was purposely not meeting Alexander’s eyes - preening only the tiniest amount under that careful gaze - and then when Lafayette had mentioned the date - had mentioned John Fucking Andrè - and Alexander had practically confessed his love for the man right there (seriously how the fuck was a British accent better than Thomas’s Southern accent?) - Thomas simply slid back from the table and got the hell out of there. 

He needed space, needed time, to lick his wounds in private. 

And then Alexander followed him to the bar. 

He was feeling sorry for himself, pathetic for thinking Alexander might actually fall in love with him without knowing they were soulmates, and he had decided to unleash the pettiness he usually kept hidden. 

_ “If your date with the perfect John André went so well, why the fuck are you even here?” It came out much more bitter and hurt than he wanted, and he saw Alexander flinch at the words.  _

_ “ Excuse me?” _

_ “Why the fuck did you even come here, Alexander?” _

_ “Because I like spending time with you? Because I like hanging out with you?” Alexander had bit back, his tone almost incredulous, “Is that so hard to believe?” _

_ He took a sip from his drink and muttered, “Could have fooled me,” into the glass.  _

_ Alexander evidently heard it, because he didn’t wait for another response before he continued, “Do you think I’d come here, where I’m surrounded by people that literally hate me if I didn’t want to see you? Newsflash, Thomas, you and Lafayette are the only two people at that table that I can stand. And I didn’t even know, for sure, if Lafayette was coming, so don’t pretend like I’m here for any other reason than to see you.” _

_ It sounded too good. It sounded like everything Thomas wanted to hear, but Alexander didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it the way Thomas wanted him to. Not if he went on a date with someone else. _

_ Instead of replying, he kept his eyes forward.  _

_ “Are you going to tell me why you’re so pissed at me? Did I do something that I’m unaware of?” _

_ Thomas, because he was a mature adult, simply rolled his eyes and said, “Nope.” _

_ “That night you took me home from the bar, you told me that if you ever pissed me off I should tell you. Because you liked that we were friends, and you didn’t want to ruin it over something stupid. The same is true now, Thomas, if I did something to upset you please just tell me. I’m sorry if I did something, and I’m sorry that I don’t know what I did, but please just tell me what it was. I like having you in my life, and I don’t want to lose our friendship. Just tell me whatever I did that upset you.” _

_ And the man had him there. Thomas did say that, he remembered saying it, and the reminder made his heart hurt. He was jealous and petty, but he didn’t actually want to lose Alexander. It would be hard to see him with a boyfriend, but Thomas thought that having Alexander as a friend would be better than not having him at all.  _

_ His voice was quiet when he responded, “That was very poetic, but you didn’t do anything wrong, Alexander. It’s just been a long day.” _

_ “Are you sure?” Alexander pressed, just like Thomas figured he would.  _

_ “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have taken a bad day out on you.” _

_ “It’s okay,” Alexander responded with a small smile, and something that looked like hope in his eyes, “Are we good then?” _

_ Thomas brushed his shoulder against Alexander’s, trying to force a smile onto his face, “Yeah, we’re good.” _

_ If only he could actually mean it.  _

The next morning, guilt curling in his stomach, Thomas had texted Alexander and asked the man to dinner. He kept telling himself that he couldn’t be mad that Alexander found someone he might like and that Thomas couldn’t take it out on him. 

And then when Alexander said yes, Thomas had to convince himself that it wasn’t a date. 

But it felt like one. 

Besides the awkward conversation about Alexander’s date with André and the very weird conversation about how Alexander thought Thomas’s soulmate was Martha (he realizes then that Alexander is absolutely as oblivious as he previously thought), the night goes smoothly. 

And it felt like a date. 

They talked through dinner, Thomas purposely brushing his foot against Alexander’s under the table, and Alex laughing at all of Thomas’s jokes. 

Hell, they even split a fucking dessert. (Which, after he watched the way Alexander’s lips closed around the spoon, might have been worth it for that moment alone.)

And when Alexander said he was walking back to Eliza’s, Thomas hadn’t hesitated to wrap his jacket around the man’s shoulders. It was cute, and seeing Alex in his clothes sent something primal and needy through his body. 

He wasn’t going to read into it. Honestly, he had decided to stop looking into it, but then- 

_ Alexander stepped closer, reaching out and capturing Thomas’s hands in his own. Thomas could feel the heat radiating through his glove, through his hand, and up into his arm. He looked back up on instinct, trying to determine what exactly the emotion was in Alexander’s eyes.  _

_ “For tonight, too. I had a good time with you.” _

_ He wasn’t going to read into it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge a little.  _

_ Thomas raised his hand, brushing a strand of hair out of Alexander’s eyes and then brushed his hand across the man’s cheek.  _

_ “Thank you for coming; I had a good time with you too.” Thomas whispered in response, keeping his voice clear but soft. “Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a ride?”  _

_ “Yeah, it’s okay.” Alexander responded, and just when Thomas was about to move away, Alexander leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto his cheek.  _

_ Thomas felt his breath catch in his throat, the feeling of Alexander so intoxicating. The smell of his cologne, the sight of him wrapped in Thomas’s - not André’s - clothing, the feel of his lips against Thomas’s skin. It was too much but not enough and he was left with the burning need to step forward and show Alexander just how good it could be.  _

_ Alexander pulled away before Thomas could convince himself to do it and smiled fondly up at him, “I’ll see you at work on Monday?”  _

_ Thomas took a breath, trying to get his heart and dick back under control, and then nodded, his voice sounding entirely different when he responded, “Yeah, I’ll see you then.”  _

And then, the last moment, which was the moment that Alexander finally put it all together. 

Thomas had been an idiot. He had been thrown off his game by Alexander’s confession that he might want to kiss him, and it hurt to know that Thomas couldn’t let it happen. 

If Alexander kissed him, he would know. And even after all this time, Thomas is clinging to the hope that Alexander might actually fall in love with him despite thinking they weren’t soulmates. 

Plan C. 

So he had stopped it, and in his efforts to convince Alexander that it wasn’t him - because it really was Thomas’s fault - he had let the colour slip from his lips. 

That was when plan C failed too. And, just like Thomas knew, he was out of options. 

And Alexander had been mad. He’d been furious. And he was right to be. 

Thomas, however, can’t be mad because, after all, he had been waiting fucking months for Alexander to put it together. And the man did. Although, he had kind of hoped that Alex would have fallen in love with him before he found out there were soulmates. He also wishes it would have gone a little bit better than it did. He had meant to explain himself, to try and explain why he kept it a secret, but Alexander’s fury - and the frankly ridiculous move he made to pull Thomas’s glove off, had lit his tempter ablaze. 

Still, he wished it would have gone better. He shouldn’t be surprised though, because Thomas is, and always has been, his own worst enemy. 

So it’s not like he could have hoped for much better than exactly what he got. 

“Fuck me,” He says outloud to no one in particular.

Locke purrs against his arm and the sudden exhaustion he feels lays heavy, like lead, on his eyelids. 

Tomorrow is the day, he reminds himself. He just has to get through tomorrow. 

Thomas closes his eyes again, and prays for sleep. 

The drive back to Washington is not nearly long enough. 

Thomas had hoped that the drive might soothe the rest of his frayed nerves, but with each passing mile marker, the anxiety in his chest increases. 

It’s managable up until the moment he crosses the Potomac and then the serverity of the situation finally hits him. And it hits him hard, like a smack to the face. 

Alexander knows. 

Alexander finally fucking knows. 

He had known it was only a matter of time, but still, dissapointment sits low and heavy in his chest. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. This isn’t how it was fucking supposed to happen. 

Despite what James says, Thomas actually did have a plan. Granted, it wasn’t a good plan or a sensible plan or even his first plan, but a bad plan is better than no plan. It was supposed to work. 

Alex was supposed to fall in love with him. He was supposed to sacrifise the idea of his soulmate, he was supposed to fall in love with Thomas for who he was - not for who he didn’t know he was. Alexander was supposed to confess his feelings, confess that he had gone and done the unthinkable by falling in love with someone he had hated, and then Thomas was going to tell him. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. 

By the time he crosses the Washington canal, just a few minutes later, Thomas’s hands are shaking once more. There is a horrible feeling in his chest, a mix of doubt and worry and fear, and it’s suffocating in the way it wraps around his heart and squeezes. 

He swings by his townhouse to drop Locke off, who runs through the house as disappears as soon as he opens her cage, and then there is no other reason to put off. There’s no point in waiting any longer, in holding out for the enevitable, for dragging out his own misery like the mascochist he is. 

Thomas puts his gloves one out of instinct. 

He stares at them on the car ride back to the White House, the black leather shiney and smooth, and the white design almost delicate in the way it curls up his fingers and around his wrist. 

There’s no point in wearing them any longer, the metaphorical cat is out of the metaphorical bag, but as he pulls into his usual parking space, Thomas can’t bring himself to take them off. Whether or not they serve their explicit purpose is null and void. As much as he hates to admit it, the gloves were for more than hiding colour from his soulmate. They were a barrier, a protection from the outside world, a protection from Alexander. 

Because even if he let Alexander in, let him worm his way past the rough barricades of Thomas’s heart, the gloves were the one peice of armour he hadn’t voluntarily given up. 

He wants to be mad, wants to be pissed at Alexander for taking his glove off, but Thomas can’t find the anger needed. He had been mad before, dissapointed really, but the anger that simmered beneath his skin had disappeared the second he stepped foot back into his arpartment. 

He is over the anger, but he doubts Alexander is. 

So Alexander has his pride, his anger, and Thomas’s heart. 

And Thomas has nothing. 

He thinks of James’s words as he walks inside, scanning his badge and showing his ID to the security guard as he bypasses the metal detector. 

_ “He already knows that you’re soulmates, you might as well just rip the bandaid the rest of the way off and tell him that you’re in love with him.” _

But all Thomas can think of, as he waits in the climbing elevator, is everything that could go wrong. He’d been telling the truth that day in his office, when Alexander had figured out that Thomas met his soulmate. 

_ “What if I was wrong about it all? What if it ruins everything? What if they drive me to ruin? What if they don’t feel the same way? What if I’ve been reading into it and projecting my own feelings? What if things go to shit, and I never get to see them again? What if things don’t work out?” _

The doors beep as the elevator arrives at floor three and Thomas still hasn’t decided if he’s going to make an effort to speak to Alexander or not. 

The decision is ripped right out of his gloved hand when the doors open with a horrendous click, and Thomas comes face to face with Alexander for the first time in a week. 

Alexander’s easy smile freezes on his face. Thomas can see his hands clench where they’re shoved in his front pockets. He watches as the smile literally melts off Alexander’s face and, almost immediatly, is replaced with a neutrally blank expression that Thomas can’t even begin to read. 

His heart is beating hard against his ribs and he has to fight the urge to reach out and just try to make Alexander understand. It is a tempting idea, but from the look in Alexander’s eyes, it’s quite clear that he doesn’t want to hear anything from Thomas- let alone some flimsy excuse about something this big. 

Instead of trying to justify himself, Thomas just blinks at the other man, and then sidesteps him as he continues his walk to Washington’s office. 

He doesn’t look over his shoulder, but he can feel Alexander’s eyes on him. 

Washington seems more than surprised to see him and Thomas tries not to feel indignant at the man’s poorly put together attempt to hide his true emotions. 

“Thomas, welcome back.” Washington says as Thomas enters the office, not bothering to shut the door behind him, “How was Virginia?”

“As wonderful as always, Sir.” He says, trying not to look too closely at Washington’s expression, “The weather was nice, as it usually is.”

Washington’s eyes are on him and Thomas doesn’t dare look away from his gaze, “That’s good to hear.”

“It’s good to be back, Sir.”

Washington’s eyebrow arches only slightly, “I trust you’ve worked out whatever issue arose that required your attention?”

Its a subtle probe and Thomas does not take the bait. “It is for the most part.” 

Which is a blantant lie. 

Washington must know this because he presses the issue, “And I trust you’ve worked out whatever disagreement you’ve had with Alexander?”

Thomas does not flinch at the name. He doesn’t. 

“There was no disagreement between us that required working out.”

“Interesting,” Washington says, his voice blank, “Alexander said the same thing.”

“Then I’d say that only confirms what I’ve said.”

“I’m inclinded to disagree with you. In fact, I’d say the only thing it really confirms is that you and Alexander both feel the need to lie about whatever happened.” Washington responds and his voice sounds somehow both disapproving and curious. 

Thomas doesn’t have a reply to that. 

“Thomas,” Washington presses the issue, “What happened between you and Alexander?”

“Are you asking me as a friend or are you asking as the President?”

“I’m asking as a friend that is concerned for your wellbeing.”

Thomas feels the fight drain out of his body in an instant and he can only manage the shake of his head. “I appreciate your concern, Sir, but it’s not my place to tell you. If Alexander wants to tell you, that’s fine with me, but I can’t in good conscious make this decision without his approval.”

Washington’s eyebrows furrow, “I think we both know he’s not going to tell me.”

“Then I suppose we’re both stuck without answers,” Thomas says and the words sound bitter to his own ears, “I should get back to work. Thank you again, Mr. President.”

He doesn’t wait to be dismissed, instead just turns on his heels and makes his way from the room. It’s rude at best and fireable at worst, but Thomas clings to the hope that Washington will take pity on him and let it slide. 

The man doesn’t make a move to call Thomas back into his office, and it’s as he rounds the corner to go back to his office, that Thomas finally releases the breath he had been holding. 

The relief doesn’t last long, as when he walks around the corner, he is stopped in his tracks. 

It’s in that moment that he almost wishes Washington had fired him, or at the very least, called him back into his office. 

Because there, just outside the breakroom, is Alexander. 

Only this time he’s not alone. 

Thomas takes one look at the man next to Alexander - at the curl of his lips and the long white braid that hangs behind his ear - and he knows who it is. 

John André. 

He’s far enough away that Alexander hasn’t noticed him yet, and Thomas watches the scene before him - with dread creeping into his stomach - as Alexander tosses his head back and laughs. André rolls his eyes, something like adoration in his eyes as he stares back at Alexander, and reaches forward to press a lingering kiss on the other man’s cheek. 

Thomas grinds his teeth together and tries to force his gaze away from them. 

It’s as he’s turning away that he stops short, eyes catching on a flash of white, and he can’t help the catch of his breath once more. He watches as Alexander reaches up, tugging playfully at André’s white braid. 

But that isn’t the worst part. 

The worst part is that Alexander’s (perfectly small, beautiful, quick) hands are covered by white fabric. More specifically, white gloves. 

It feels like a gunshot to his chest, like there’s a wide open, gapping hole between his ribs. 

Because they’re not just gloves, not anymore. 

It’s a denial, a rejection, a statement directed at no one except Thomas. 

Alexander knows they’re soulmates, knows they are meant to be in the eyes of the universe, and he’s wearing gloves. He’s hiding colour from Thomas’s eyes, and he can only take that as exactly what it is. 

They are soulmates, but Thomas is no John André. And he’s starting to realize that that might be exactly what Alexander wants. 

It was never supposed to happen like this. But it did. 

So Thomas does what he does best, and he leaves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes  
\- LOCKE THE CAT!!  
\- I love this side of James, like can you say comedy relief?  
\- its been years since I went to Monticello so I used [this](https://www.monticello.org/house-gardens/virtual-tours-of-monticello/) as a reference  
\- Jefferson really did have a bust of Hamilton which you can learn more about [here](https://www.monticello.org/site/research-and-collections/alexander-hamilton-bust-sculpture). Strange man.  
\- JOHN ANDRÉ!!!!  
\- let me know what you think, yeah?


	23. everything is okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insert John André (again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, wow, this took me longer than I expected, but we're finally here!
> 
> This chapter talks a bit about Alexander's backstory so warning for mentions of his mother's death and his cousins suicide. Also, he's straight up not having a good time for part of this chapter and refers to "letting go" but I'd like to clarify he doesn't mean it in a literal sense. He just means he wants to stop fighting to make everything go perfect. So while he's not vibing, he's not referring to suicide in any way. 
> 
> Also we're so close to happy times I swear!
> 
> (also this chapter begins where Alex’s POV has left off, so you’ll see the events that happened in Thomas’s chapter!)

Returning to work on Wednesday is harder than it should be. Alexander has always been overly ambitious, ready for every opportunity to prove himself and to prove his worth. He usually gets to work early, works through lunch - if he eats - and leaves late. 

But this Wednesday is different. The dread of having to return to a Thomas-less workplace is hanging heavy on his shoulders, and he has to physically drag himself into the White House, and even then it is a challenge to get through the day. He barely makes it to noon without crying at his desk, and then - because he’s a sucker for his own pain - decides to eat in the breakroom on the off chance that Thomas didn’t actually take the week off and Alex might happen to run into him. 

He doesn’t, of course, and Thomas’s office door is shut tightly and the lights are turned off when Alexander walks past. 

But he’s not really surprised. 

Instead of running into Thomas, he happens to run into Peggy Shippen. She looks up when he enters the breakroom, that same full smile on her face as she waves him over. 

He drops into the seat next to her and she greets him with an, “Alexander, nice of you to join the common folk for once.”

“You know me: work, work, work.” He says easily, taking a sip from his coffee mug, “Unrelated but I heard you’re back on the market. Was your date last Thursday really that bad?”

She laughs, tossing her long white hair over her shoulder and pops another cracker into her mouth, “It was terrible, Alex. He was obnoxious, and so rude to the waiter too. And he left me with the bill! So if you have any cute friends, maybe have them drop me a line.” She says, fluttering her eyelashes at him. 

He remembers a rumour he heard months ago, about how Peggy didn’t have a soulmate. How when she turned 17 her world had just transformed into colour. There had been no prior colour, no kiss, no soulmate. Her world had just fallen into complete colour all at once. 

It wasn’t a rare thing, it was an impossible thing. It didn’t happen. At least, no one he’s ever talked to had heard such a thing. He remembers talking to Lafayette about it, wondering what it meant. To this day, he still hasn’t heard a single theory on what it could mean. He can’t imagine what that would be like for Peggy. 

Alexander shakes his head, “If I run into anyone deserving of such an amazing lady, I’ll make sure you’re the first person on my list.”

Peggy grins at him, nudging his shoulder with her own, “Well, I’ve been keeping my eye out for you too. You’re a catch, Alexander. I have half a mine to take you for myself.”

“Trust me when I say I am undeserving of someone like you,” Alexander says, self deprecation being his best quality, “But I’ll find you someone that is.”

Peggy winks at him, pushing her container of crackers in his direction, “Come on, you can’t survive on coffee alone, you know.”

Alexander takes a cracker, listening to her talk about Arnold, and thinks that maybe things are okay. 

It’s that next day that Alexander finally musters up the courage to do what he’s been avoiding. He double checks with Peggy Schuyler to make sure Thomas is still out of state, and as soon as she disappears from her desk, he picks the lock on Thomas’s door. 

“Thank you Hercules for that life hack.” He says to no one in particular, and then steps inside. 

The colour is an assault on his eyes. 

The office is just how he remembers leaving it. The cleaning crew usually only bothers with the offices on the weekends, which explains why all of Thomas’s desk is still on the floor. 

The entire room is a mess. 

Papers, pens, and other objects litter the floor. More than half the room is in bright colour: the curtains, the chair, all the trinkets that have been casted onto the floor. 

He takes a deep breath, the lingering smell of Thomas’s cologne in the room, and then he starts to clean. 

Alexander bends down to collect the scattered papers from the floor, shuffling them into some semblance of an order before placing them back onto Thomas’s desk.He picks up the pens and the trinkets, all the random objects and without looking too closely at their colour, puts them back where he assumes they might have gone. He would think that after spending so much time in Thomas’s office, he would remember - at least somewhat - what the place looked like. Although, now that he’s thinking about it, Alexander always paid more attention to Thomas than he did the room. 

He stands up, pulling the curtains open to allow blinding sunlight to fall into the office. He sucks in another breath and pulls Thomas’s chair back to the right side of the desk, and takes a seat. 

He can imagine Thomas sitting here, looking over at Alexander with a fond look in his eyes. 

This is Thomas’s chair. 

His soulmates chair. 

The desk is a mess, a result of Alexander simply throwing things onto it from the floor, so he takes a moment to try and rearrange the objects. It’s as he’s moving a quill stand that his arm brushes against a stack of papers and sends them fluttering to the floor. 

He huffs a sigh, bending over to pick them up. The sun reflects on a picture that lay amongst the mess, glossy and captivating. 

Alexander stares at the image before him, picking it up slowly, as if it would catch fire and burn in his hands. 

It’s him. 

Well, it’s him and Thomas. 

The image is clear and vibrant, in black and white, and he knows in a second where it is from. The lighting, the suits, the background. 

It's a picture from the Gala. A picture from when he was dancing with Thomas. 

Alexander is looking up at him, eyes wide and a smile beginning to curve on his lips, his fingers tight on Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas is looking down at Alexander, a fond sorta tilt on his mouth, his hand low on Alex’s hip. They’re close, intimately so, and he can’t tear his gaze away. 

They look like they were meant to be together. 

He supposes that’s an ironic thing to say, given that they literally were meant to be together, but they look the part. They look like two halves of a whole, like two people just gravitating towards one another. 

They look like two people in love. 

But images can be deceiving and there’s always two sides to a story, and Alexander knows his side isn’t the one that matters here. 

Just because he wants Thomas, doesn’t mean Thomas has to want him back. 

He’s curious as to where and how Thomas got this particular picture, because he doesn’t remember being photographed with him that night. Although, from the look on his face in the photo, he supposes he might have been a little too caught up to notice. 

Alexander flips the photograph and finds, written in neat penmanship, a short message on the back of it. 

_ This one didn’t make it into the paper, the reporter was going to delete it. I thought you might want to have it instead. Tell him, for both our sakes. _

_\- James_

Alexander flips the image back over and stares at Thomas’s face. 

Why would he keep it?

Alex doesn’t know why the tears start. Maybe it’s because he misses Thomas - misses him like a fucking limb - or maybe it’s because he loves the man so much and he knows that nothing can ever come from their relationship. Maybe it's because even with all his friends, Alexander has never felt so truly and completely alone. 

Things like this don’t happen. Sure, there are cases where soulmates don’t work out, where they don’t fall in love, where they hurt each other. But things like _ this _ don’t happen, not to people other than Alexander. 

Alexander’s life has been one giant “Fuck You” from God themself or from the universe or from whatever cosmic being decided to screw with him. It’s been one “fuck you” after another and it’s not fair. 

He was born into a shit life, watched his own mother die as she held him, found his cousin’s corpse, and then he escaped. 

Alexander came to the states, worked and crawled and dug his way out of nothing. He fell in love, he was going to get married, and then it had been ripped out from under him like nothing.

So he built up his walls, promised himself that he would find his soulmate and it’d be like the stories his mother used to tell him. They’d ride off into the sunset, they’d be happy, and Alexander could finally - finally - stop the desperate and pointless struggling. And then he found love again. He found someone good, and decent - someone that could match him in every way possible - and he had given up on the fantasy of his soulmate. He had been willing to give it up for Thomas. 

And then Thomas, like every person that had disappointed Alexander before him, pulled the rug.

Alexander feels like - throughout his entire life - he’s been hanging off the edge of this cliff, a desperate white knuckled grip on the precipice of his happiness, too afraid to look at the never ending nothingness below him. And he’s tired. He’s so damn tired of hanging there, of crawling up an inch only to fall down three. 

He wants to let go.

Alexander wants to stop putting in futile effort only to be disappointed in the end. Because disappointment is all he’s ever known. His whole life, it’s been one heartbreak after the other, and there’s something so tempting - so alluring - about the blank unknown that’s beneath him. 

He just wants to let go. 

But the emptiness below him is dark and blank and unpredictable, and he knows they’ll be no one to catch him at the bottom. Because his whole life has been Alexander catching himself. He’s been the only person looking out for him, because if he doesn’t take care of himself - no one else will. 

So he glances down at the blackness beneath it, at the spiraling nothingness that beckons and calls, and he grips tighter at the ledge. Because while there is nothingness beneath, there is hope in front of him.

There is Eliza - with her smile and her laugh and her goodness. There is John and his wit and fierce loyalty, Angelica with her sarcasm and protectiveness. There is Lafayette and Hercules and Peggy and André and Adrienne. 

And there is Alexander. 

There’s the person he knows he is - with his relentless ambition, his tenacity in all things, his inability to quit. 

His love, his passion, and his hope. 

So Alexander hangs on a little tighter to the metaphorical precipice, and then he drops his head onto Thomas’s desk and cries.

That is where Washington finds him thirty minutes later. He had spent half an hour sobbing over Thomas’s desk, tears staining the wood, and yes, it is pathetic - but he’s never dealt with heartbreak in a way that wasn’t. 

He looks up to find Washington hovering by the door, concern written too obvious in the tilt of his brows and the line of his shoulders. 

Alexander’s never seen an emotion written so plainly on his boss’s face before. 

He is being pathetic and he knows that he must look the part as well. There are dried tear marks on his cheeks, his hair is half falling down, and his upper body is mostly spread across Thomas’s desk. 

Washington clears his throat and Alexander makes eye contact. 

“I think you should leave early.” Washington begins, “And take tomorrow off as well.”

His reply is a short, “Okay.”

“Alexander, please, I know you took Tuesday off but something has obviously happened and you’re not cop-” Washington’s voice cuts off, his eyebrows furrowing even more, “Did you say okay?”

“Yes, Sir. I’d like to take the rest of today and tomorrow as well.”

He’s never seen Washington at a loss for words. Perhaps he’s not holding up quite as well as he thought he was. 

After what seems like ages, Washington finds the words, “Alright then, my boy. I’ll have my memos sent to your email, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

Alexander doesn’t look at him as he stands from Thomas’s desk and makes his way across the office. Washington stops him, however, with a firm hand on the shoulder before he can walk past. 

“If something has happened between yourself and Mr. Jefferson that I need to know about, I expect that you will tell me.”

It isn’t a question, it is an order. 

Alexander shakes his head, feels guilt curl in his stomach at lying to Washington again, “Nothing happened, Sir.”

They both know it’s a lie, Alex wouldn’t be crying over Thomas’s desk for no reason. 

Washington’s voice is exasperated when he replies, “Very well, get some rest, son.”

And so it goes. 

He sends a text to John when he gets home, explaining that he’s taking off the day and the next and that his phone will be off so he can indulge in some much needed personal time. Alex doesn’t wait for a response, just powers down his phone and throws it into a draw in the kitchen. 

He pours himself a glass of wine, throws it back in one go, and then he crawls under his comforters and prays for sleep. 

Friday is the same as Thursday evening, and Alexander - for once - doesn’t bother looking at his laptop or phone. He sits on the couch, in a pair of sweatpants and Thomas’s white jacket that still somehow smells like him, and watches some historical documentary on the television and tries his best not to wallow. 

His body is exhausted and even though he’s never been a fan of naps, Alexander allows himself to lay down and close his eyes - just for a moment. 

He’s halfway between unconsciousness and awakeness when there’s a soft knock on the door. Alexander rolls onto his side, pulling the quilted blanket - the one Eliza had given him for their anniversary so many years ago - up over his head. The knocking ceases for a moment and he relaxes. 

Two seconds later, the knocking starts back up again and Alex finally picks himself up off the couch and rounds towards the door. He thinks it might be John, come to annoy the shit out of him, and he’s more than ready to send the man home. 

Alexander pulls the door open mid knock, and freezes when he comes face to face with a bouquet of white lilies. A moment later, they are moved to the side and Alex gets a glimpse of that perfectly beautiful face he had missed so much in the past week. 

“John?”

André smiles at him, bright and charming and everything Alexander has needed so badly in the past week before he says, “Hi love, did you miss me?”

He’d be embarrassed by the way he throws himself into André’s arms if not for how tightly the man hugs him back. 

He makes himself pull away after a moment, gratefully accepting the flowers that André ushers into his hands. 

“Did John give you my address?” Alexander asks, pulling the door open further to allow the man to follow him inside. “And, let me guess, he told you that Washington asked me to take the day off too?”

André winks at him, “He did, but I wanted to see you anyway. You deserve a night out, and I want to spend time with you. I have tickets for that play, any chance I can get you to come with me?”

“Of course I’ll come.” Alexander says with no hesitation, “Let me change real quick and we can go.”

The entire night, like everything with André, is perfect. The show they see is some small production of The Glass Menagerie and Alexander may or may not cry on André’s shoulder when Jim breaks the horn of Laura’s Unicorn menagerie. It’s not a particularly sad part of the play, but he can’t help the way the tears literally force themselves from his eyes. 

André doesn’t mention it after the play, simply buys them both hotdogs from a food truck, and then holds Alexander’s hand the rest of the way back to his apartment. 

André, the true gentleman that he is, walks Alexander back up to his door. His hand is still intertwined with Alex’s, warm and soft and giving him an extra layer of comfort he needed but didn’t know how to ask for. 

When they get to his front door, Alexander unlocks it with his free hand but doesn’t move to push it open. Instead, he leans back against the door and smiles at André. Like that day, which seems so long ago, their hands are hanging - still intertwined - between their bodies. 

“Thank you for tonight.” Alexander says, his voice coming out lower than he intended, “I really needed this.”

“You know I’d do anything for you, Alexander.” André responds, his fingers tightening against Alex’s own.

It’s such an intimate thing to say, especially given the lack of time they’ve known each other, but André has a way about him - in which he seems completely genuine, vulnerable, and forthcoming in every aspect of his soul. It’s something Alexander can appreciate. 

He can’t help the way he leans a little closer on instinct. One of André’s hands comes up to frame his face and it's as Alexander stares up into those crystal grey eyes that he realizes just how much he cares for this man. 

Thomas had let him down, but André had been there to help him pick up the pieces. 

Alexander closes the distance between them and in a second his lips are pressed André’s. He sucks in a deep breath, feeling the way André presses back just a little. It’s a soft kiss, just the tiniest bit of pressure, and the definition of chaste, but it’s still so good. 

André breaks the kiss far too soon, resting his forehead against Alexander’s as they share the same oxygen. His eyes are closed, André’s hand still resting against his face. As much as he doesn’t want to think about Thomas - and he really doesn’t - he can’t help but compare the way he felt with Thomas to the way he feels with André. 

With André he feels safe, he feels cherished. 

But it’s nothing compared to the way he felt with Thomas. Thomas made him feel on edge with excitement. With one glance he made Alex feel like a melted puddle of himself. Without even touching Alexander, Thomas could steal his breath. 

“John,” Alexander whispers, opening his eyes to look up at André. 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” André says, his voice soft, “I’m trying really hard not to fall in love with you, because your heart is already taken.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex tells him, and he’s never been as genuine in an apology as he is at that moment. Because even if Thomas broke his heart, even if he ripped it into a million pieces and then ditched, it doesn’t change the way Alex feels about him. 

“Don’t be sorry, love. I’m just trying to protect both of our hearts. Because, sooner or later, you’re going to have to make a decision and I don’t want to cause you any pain.” André says, as he begins to pull away, “I should go.”

“John wait-”

And André does. His eyes find Alexander’s once more and there’s an easy tilt to his lips that makes it clear that there aren’t any hard feelings. 

“I almost wish I would have met you first.” Alexander says, even though the words sound wrong to his ears. 

“Don’t say that,” André tells him, grabbing Alexander’s hand in his own and bringing it up to his lips, “Your soulmate means something to you, even now, and that means something to me. You love them.”

“I could have fallen in love with you.”

“I know,” André says, a bittersweet sort of smile on his face, “Fate can be a real bitch like that sometimes.”

André never curses, somehow always managing to maintain the semblance of professional and put together and perfect, and hearing him say that forces a laugh from Alex’s throat. 

“You’re right.” Alexander says around a smile, “Is there anyway I can convince you to stay with me tonight? Nothing nefarious, I promise, I really just don’t want to be alone.”

It doesn’t take André more than a second to reply, “All you had to do was ask, love.”

And then he curls his fingers around Alexander’s hand, and follows him inside. 

Alexander gives André a set of clothing - with pants that don’t fall long enough on his legs - and they change in silence before making their way to the bathroom. André takes a spare toothbrush from underneath the sink and then they brush their teeth next to one another, André’s shoulder brushing against his own and making him smile. It’s a kind of domesticity that he’s only ever had with his closest friends and it makes his chest feel a little lighter.

“Come on,” André whispers into his ear, once their teeth are cleaned and mouths rinsed, his chin resting on Alex’s shoulder. “Let’s go to bed.”

Alexander climbs underneath the comforter, feels the way the bed shifts to accommodate André behind him. And then the man wraps his arm around Alex and pulls him tight against his chest. He feels safe, feels comforted, and it’s enough that sleep comes to him easily that night. 

They end up spending the rest of the weekend together. Alexander remains mostly off the radar - just needing a bit of time away from the hustle of work and the chaotic nature of his friends - and soaks up the attention that André gives to him and him alone. They have a picnic along the Potomac on Sunday, the weather actually decent enough for once, and Alexander lays his head in André’s lap and lets the man feed him grapes as he plays with his hair. 

The sun shines down on them, everything too bright and perfect, even in shades of black and white. And, for the first time in a long time, it feels like Alexander can actually breath. 

He’s been dreading Monday for the past week, and when the day comes and Alexander has to return to work - return to Thomas - he is on edge. André volunteers to meet him for lunch. Alexander almost cries when he says that, because it's just more proof that André actually does care about him. He says yes, of course, because it’ll be something to look forward to and help get him through the day. 

It’s when he’s getting ready that Monday morning - André back at his own apartment and the sun not even close to the horizon yet - that Alexander finds himself staring at the white gloves on his bedside table. They’ve been there since the day that Thomas had given them to Alex at the bar. 

He reaches out and picks them up, the fabric soft against his fingertips. 

Thomas doesn’t want him, and even though Alexander doesn’t like it, he can respect it. He doesn’t want to shove the colour down Thomas’s face. Alex doesn’t know what all Thomas can see in colour - he hadn’t given any thought to being careful about what he touched - but now he knows he should be. 

And he doesn’t want to make Thomas live with something he doesn’t want. He doesn’t want to make him have to see colour. He doesn’t want to remind Thomas that he got stuck with Alex as a soulmate. 

So Alexander puts the gloves on. 

The day starts out decently well. He locks himself in his office, sending Maria to get his coffee for him, and actually manages to get some work done. There’s no sight of Thomas so far, so Alex considers it a win. Things are looking up. 

That is, until he gets a call from Angelica. 

He’s rather hesitant to pick up at first, worried that she’s going to ask why he’s been MIA or what happened with Thomas. In the end, his gut instincts win out and he picks the receiver up, holding it between his ear and shoulder as he goes to greet her. 

Before he can even say hello, she’s already talking, “Big problem, Alex. And when I say big problem, I mean big fucking problem. Like bigger than anything else we’ve had to deal with in a hot minute. Like end of the-”

“Angelica,” Alexander interupts her, “What’s going on?”

“I just got off the phone with Jane Henry - Senator Henry’s daughter slash aide - and she told me they’re bringing a motion to the floor to keep your bank bill in committee until the new Congress is sworn in.”

His stomach sinks in his chest, “What? They can’t do that. We barely have enough votes as is with the lame-duck Republicans. If they push the vote back, there’s no way in hell we can get it passed.”

“I know, Alexander.”

“Shit,” He responds, running his fingers through the hair, trying to figure out how to find a way around this, “What are we supposed to do? When do they vote to leave it in committee?”

“I’ve been on the phone with everyone I could think of. The vote Wednesday, Alexander. Apparently this has been in the works for a while, but the sitting Republicans - Henry primarily - has been working on keeping it under wraps. I don’t know what else I can do, Alex, I’ve ran through this scenario a hundred times now.”

“Fuck, okay, just talk to your dad and see if there’s anything else we can try. There has to be some Senate rule or something that we can use, right?”

“Dad’s in Albany so he won’t be at the vote tomorrow, but I’ll give him a call and see if there’s anything we can do. I’ll keep you updated.”

Alexander sighs a little into the phone, “Thank you, Ang.”

“Of course, we’ll talk soon.”

He hangs up and pushes out of his chair. There has to be something he can do. They’ve come too far to lose it all right before they’ve even had a chance. To leave the bill in committee is to make sure it dies on the floor, and like hell is Alexander going to let that happen. 

Alexander strides out of his office on his way to the elevator, intent on running down to Speaker Muhlenberg’s office and informing him of the less than present surprise. He’s waiting at the elevator, hands in his pockets, when the doors pull open and Alexander’s breath gets sucked out of his lungs. 

Because there is Thomas. 

He feels his smile freeze, his hands clench, and he can’t move. He’s immediately on the edge, frozen there unable to move or breath, and he can’t look away from the shining grey of Thomas’s eyes. His chest hurts, aches really, and he wants to say something. He wants to tell Thomas he loves him, that he misses him, that he misses what they had. 

But before he gets the chance, Thomas is striding past him. They’re shoulders don’t even brush, and Alexander can’t help the way he watches the other man leave. 

He forgets why he even needed to get on the elevator in the first place. But, now that he thinks about it, he could really use some coffee. 

He tries his best to put Thomas out of his mind. His heart physically aches in his chest as he makes his way to the breakroom, trying not to focus on whatever look was in the man’s eyes. Thomas might be his soulmate, but that doesn’t mean anything - not anymore. 

Alexander walks into the breakroom and stops short when he sees André standing by the coffee machine as he scrolls through his phone. 

“Hey you,” Alex greets him with a nudge, watching as André looks up and smiles back at him, “How’d you get in? You didn’t even tell me you were here.”

“Your assistant let me up. She told me I could probably find you in here.”

“I see,” Alexander says, mentally reminding himself to thank Maria later, “Well I’m glad you’re here; I’m starving.”

He’s two seconds away from suggesting they head to lunch, when Peggy Shippen enters the break room. She looks as stunningly beautiful as she always does but before Alexander can greet her, he spots André’s lips part out of the corner of his eye. Alexander’s eyebrows arch and he has about three seconds to come up with a game plan before Peggy notices him, smiling wide and giving a little wave as she approaches. 

“Hello Alexander, nice to see you out of your office again.”

“Perhaps you and Washington were actually onto something. I’ve been getting so much more done now that I don’t spend every waking moment working.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Peggy responds, her gaze flashing to André for a moment before she looks back at Alexander. 

It’s enough of a hint for him to take action. “Oh, right, Peggy this is my friend John André, John this is Peggy Shippen.”

Peggy grins at André as she extends her hand, and André actually takes her hand and kisses the back of it. It’s such a charming and sweet gesture that Alex’s heart swoons just a little on Peggy’s behalf. She doesn’t look unfazed either, if the grey flush on her cheeks is anything to go by. 

“Miss. Shippen, it’s absolutely lovely to meet you.”

Peggy’s eyes are completely focused on André when she responds, looking a little dazed - and honestly Alex gets it. “Likewise, but please Mr. André, call me Peggy.”

“Then I insist that you call me John.”

Peggy’s smile widens just a fraction and Alex’s eyes drop to where André is still holding her hand. Neither of them seem to notice though, too caught up in looking at each other in a way that would be completely weird if it wasn’t so damn cute. 

Alexander clears his throat and André seems to remember himself, releasing Peggy’s hand and finally looking back at him. 

“We should go, you know, to lunch.” Alexander supplies, and he thinks he might see a bit of a flush on André’s cheeks as well. 

“Lunch, right.”

Alexander manages to keep a straight face when he turns back to Peggy, “Peggy, it was great seeing you again.” 

“You too, Alexander. Enjoy your lunch.” She pauses for a moment before directing her next words at André, “Perhaps I’ll see you around, John?”

“I would love nothing more.” André replies and it's so smooth that Alexander’s heart constricts a little in his chest. 

He has to literally usher the man from the breakroom, and as soon as they’re far enough away from the door that Peggy can’t hear them, André stops and turns to Alexander. 

“She is the most beautiful person I have ever seen. Present company excluded.”

Alexander is grinning when he responds, caught up in the obvious attraction that had just occurred right in front of him. He’s never seen two people have such chemistry before. He laughs a little, because apparently fate is a bitch, and responds with, “That was honestly so sweet. You just met her and I think you’re whipped.”

André rolls his eyes fondly, “Is there any way you could help me out?”

He rolls his eyes, a smile still firmly on his lips, “Of course I can. She’s been looking for a nice guy, and I honestly couldn’t imagine anyone nicer than you.”

André leans forward to drop a chaste kiss on his cheek and Alexander can’t help the way he leans slightly into the touch. He reaches up to tug playfully at André’s braid, his white gloves shimmering just a little in the light. 

“You’re the best, Alexander.”

He takes André’s hand, pulling him towards the door, “I know I am, now come on, I really am fucking starving.”

And if André has a half starstruck look on his face for the rest of lunch, then Alexander will just say it’s the universe at work. 

It’s halfway through lunch that Alexander gets a text message from Eliza. He apologizes to André, who tells him it’s not a problem, and glances at the screen. 

From Betsy <3 (12:23 PM): Come to Lafayette’s tonight? We’re drinking and I miss you. 

As much as he really doesn’t want to suffer through a night of pity (once he is, of course, forced to tell his friends), he knows he’s waited long enough. If he waits any longer they’re going to get suspicious. Hell, he knows Lafayette’s already suspicious, and Alexander might die if the man decides to stop waiting for Alexander and goes straight to Thomas. 

So he chokes down his pride and responds with a yes. 

André walks with him back up to his office (Alex is convinced he’s hoping to run into Peggy Shippen again), and it's even further proof of how much the universe is out to get him. Because, when the doors to the elevator open in the lobby, it isn’t empty. There, standing in all his glory, is Thomas fucking Jefferson.

Alexander can’t believe his fucking luck. He wants to stop, wants to curse the sky, but André - who Alexander quickly remembers doesn’t know who Alex’s soulmate is - simply walks onto the elevator with a smile, and Alexander has no option but to follow. 

André turns a smile Thomas’s way, extending his hands as the doors close behind them. 

“Thomas Jefferson, it’s lovely to run into you again. I’m John André. We met a few years ago at the dedication of the George Washington Memorial Hospital.” André says and Alexander wants to ground to swallow him whole. 

To give credit where credit is due, Thomas seems completely unaffected as he turns and accepts André’s hand in his own. Alexander flinches when he sees the gloves still on the man’s hands. “John André, it’s great to see you again. It’s been a long time. What brings you to the White House?”

Alexander has missed that voice. Even if he knows that Thomas knows exactly why André’s here. Thomas knows they’re friends. He knows André’s here with Alex. 

“Oh, just bringing Alex back from lunch.”

“Lovely,” Thomas says, his eyes finding Alexander’s, “Secretary Hamilton.”

The words cut like a knife, but he returns the honorific. “Secretary Jefferson.”

It’s so tense in the elevator and, fuck, how long are they going to be on this thing?

As if the Gods have finally heard his prayers for once, the doors ding open and Thomas is gone before Alexander can even try and think of something else to say. He breathes a sigh of relief as André catches his eye. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Alexander looks away from his friend and shrugs, “Like you said, fate’s a bitch.”

He makes it through the rest of the day without issue, thankfully, and leaves promptly at six o’clock. He goes home to grab a shower and change his clothes - ditches the gloves too - before heading over to Lafayette’s apartment around eight. 

Unsurprisingly, everyone is already there. 

It becomes clear three steps into the apartment, that no one was around to stop Lafayette from decorating for this particular party. From the Beyoncé streaming through the speakers, to the glitter covering almost every available surface of the apartment, and the twenty some bottles of liquor sitting on the coffee table. 

“Alexander,_ mon cher _, you made it!” Lafayette greets him before he can even pull his coat off and captures Alexander into a hug. 

“Hey Laf,” Alexander responds, returning the hug before greeting everyone else.

When he says everyone is there, he means everyone. Lafayette, John, Peggy, Eliza, Angelica, Hercules, and Ben too. The only person missing is Adrienne, but Alex can recall Lafayette mentioning that she’d be spending the week in New York. 

The gang (minus Adrienne) is all back together. 

He walks around for a little bit, chatting with everyone and drinking a concoction that Lafayette had shoved into his hand. He tries to speak to Angelica about his bill, but John quickly institutes a “no work talk”. 

They all end up in the living room, inadvertently playing a game of 20 questions in an effort to catch up with everyone. 

Angelica talks about the man she met at a coffee shop who she’s pretty sure is the son of a Governor, but she’s too afraid to ask. Eliza - somehow - gets tricked into admitting to the crush she had on John during college. They skip Ben for the round because, “Lafayette, you can’t ask someone to spill confidential information.”

When it’s Alexander’s turn, Peggy Schuyler is the first to volunteer a question. And, really, Alexander wishes he would have sat this round out. 

“What happened between you and Thomas? You texted me last Monday and asked if he was still in his office and then he destroyed said office and took a week off. So, what gives?”

Alexander should have seen this coming. He shifts on the floor and drains the rest of the drink before sighing, “Well, as you all know, I’m in love with him. I went to tell him on Monday and I found out that he’s my soulmate.”

He hears more than one sharp intake of breath. 

So he continues, “He’s been keeping it from me this whole time and I got pissed. He got pissed. He threw a tantrum and left.”

“Are you serious?” Peggy asks, her eyes wide. 

“Unfortunately.”

“But isn’t this good?” Eliza interrupts, “I mean it's terrible that he kept it from you, but you love him still, right? Does that change this for you?”

And isn’t that the million dollar question?

“I honestly don’t know why I’m so upset. I should be happy. I’ve wanted to be with my soulmate for years and then I wanted to be with Thomas, but know I could - hypothetically - have both. And I wanted Thomas to be my soulmate so badly. I think it just hurts to know that he doesn’t want me.”

“What?” This time it’s Lafayette, and the words are spit out like he can’t possibly believe what Alex is saying, “You think he doesn’t want you?”

“He’s made it abundantly clear, Laf.” Alexander says, watching as Lafayette picks up his phone and starts typing furiously, “Don’t you dare text him or I swear to God, I’ll kick your ass.”

Lafayette’s lip comes out in a pout, but he drops his phone nonetheless. 

“It sucks that he doesn’t want me, but it’s okay.” Alexander says, looking at the doubtful expressions on his friends’ faces. “I swear, I’m okay. I’m fine.”

He can only wish that was true. 

That night, once everyone is drunk and tired, Alexander sneaks out onto the balcony. The wind is cold, but grounding, and he fits his feet between the railing posts and looks down at the city beneath them. 

He hears the sliding glass door behind him, and a moment later Lafayette sits down and curls up next to him. 

“I wish you would let me talk to him. You know eighty-three percent of soulmate fights are miscommunications?”

Alexander rolls his eyes, looking over at Lafayette, “That’s bullshit, you totally just made that up.”

There’s a loose smile on the man’s face when he relents, “You’re right, but I think it’s true in this case.”

He looks at the way Lafayette’s eyelashes fan out against his cheekbones, his eyes closed, and huffs in a deep breath. “I don’t even know what to think anymore.”

“In my experience, things always seem to work out how they’re meant to.” Lafayette says, opening his eyes and looking back at Alex, “If you love him, and if he loves you, then I fully believe it will work out.”

Alexander looks back out at the sprawling city beneath them - alite and full of life even at the late hour - and wishes that he could believe it too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes  
\- Washington is the definition of suspicious.  
\- I love the Glass Menagerie. It's one of my favourite plays and, if you're interested, you can find a synopsis [here.](https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/menagerie/summary/)  
\- For those of you that don't know how the US government works (first off, it's okay, nobody does) it is a lot more complicated to pass a bill than I make it in this fic. [Here](https://votesmart.org/education/how-a-bill-becomes-law#.XltrpS-ZNQI) is a decent guide in case you're curious.  
\- Sorry y'all but Peggy Shippen/John André is my OTP. You can read a bit about them [here](https://historycollection.co/peggy-shippen-thought-to-be-benedict-arnolds-innocent-wife-actually-initiated-his-treasonous-plot/) or you can watch AMC's Turn: Washington's Spies and cry your eyes out. (Also Turn's André is the inspiration for my André.)  
\- let me know what you think??  
\- Hints for next chapter: change of POV, sweet lips, and an awkward realization.


	24. insert george washington

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insert George Washington

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than the rest, but its a change of POV so sue me ;) This is a self indulgent chapter that was written for my birthday (which was back in Feb, whoops) but here it is!
> 
> When I say we're so damn close, I don't think y'all understand how fucking close we are. We're finally getting there!
> 
> also I love feedback sooooo

“I’ll have the information typed up and on your desk within the hour, Sir.” Tilghman says, gesturing to the education stats in front of him, “Thank you again, Your Excellency.”

Washington dismisses him with a nod, looking down at the thick folders that already line his desk. There is too much that needs to be done and not enough time in the day to complete it all. He has three congressional bills to look at - and considering the Republican majority in the Senate - probably veto. He has a meeting tomorrow about the new healthcare initiative he’s putting into place - Congress Republicans be damned - and a phone call with the Prime Minister of England following that to discuss America’s neutrality in the war. 

But, for today, he has bigger problems to worry about. 

The first being his cabinet meeting at one to discuss Lee’s new reelection strategy, as well as to hear updates about Alexander’s progress in pushing his Bank Bill through Congress. 

More pressing than either of those things, however, is the growing suspicion that something has happened between his two most trusted members of the cabinet. Something has happened, that much Washington is certain of. If he wasn’t sure before, Alexander’s actions have only enforced his verdict. While he knows that something has happened, he can’t even begin to imagine what it might be. Both Thomas’s and Alexander’s secretaries have been remarkably quiet on the matter, and none of the Executive interns seem to know either. Or, if they do know, they’re not making it a priority to tell Washington. No matter how much he pushes, no one will tell him anything. Which, considering he’s the leader of the free world, is a little baffling. 

Washington doesn’t understand what could have possibly caused such a strife between them. The last he knew, they were getting along fine. Thomas had helped pass Alexander’s assumption bill, and - if rumours were to be trusted - the two were voluntarily spending time together outside of work. He remembers seeing them at the Senate Gala, only a few weeks ago, talking and even dancing together. 

It couldn’t have been politics that drove them apart, because nothing even remotely bipartisan has been brought up within the cabinet since Alexander’s Bank Bill. 

Which means something else most of happened, something personal. It's the only thing that even remotely explains their actions. It's the only thing that explains why Thomas had come into his office, shaken and distant, and requested a week off. Or why Alexander had come by only ten minutes later and requested the next day off. And, further, Washington can’t think of a single work-related reason that he caught Alexander sobbing into Thomas’s desk last week. Or why he had voluntarily accepted more time off. 

It was concerning at the very least to Washington, both as their employee and their friend. Both of them had assured him that nothing was wrong, nothing had happened, but then Thomas came back from his week off and - finally - Washington had the proof he needed that something happened. 

_ “I appreciate your concern, Sir, but it’s not my place to tell you. If Alexander wants to tell you, that’s fine with me, but I can’t in good conscience make this decision without his approval.” _

Something personal had happened between the two of them, and Washington was going to figure it out. He doesn’t know how, but he’s going to. 

The clock on his desk strikes 12:55 and he dismisses the thoughts from his head. He’s the President of the United States, and presidents know how to compartmentalize. Washington just has to suffer through this cabinet meeting (knowing Lee is speaking ensures he will be suffering) and then after, he might be able to get some answers. 

Washington takes the stairs down to the second floor, pushing open the door to the conference room, and watches as everyone in the room stands. He puts them at ease with a nod, watches as they all take their seats. 

Everyone is present except for Adams, Thomas, and Greene - although Adams is hardly a surprise. Washington takes his seat at the head of the table before turning his attention to Alexander. He finds the man looking at the door, his face blank, but his hand tapping incessantly against the table. 

And he’s wearing gloves. 

It’s roughly seventy degrees in the White House, and Washington can’t think of a single reason why Alexander would be wearing gloves. Wearing gloves was Thomas’s thing, not Alexander’s. 

Washington adds that to his list of things to be concerned about, before turning his attention back to Alex’s face. 

Alexander’s always been excellent at hiding his emotions, but Washington’s worked with him long enough now that he can read all the little tells. Annoyance, anxiety, anger, lust. Washington knows the signs, he knows the tells, and right now Alexander is anxious. 

The door to the conference room opens and Greene enters, followed by Thomas, and Washington glances back at Alexander just in time to watch his gaze drop to the table. 

Thomas nods in Washington’s direction before taking his seat. Washington nods back, watching as Thomas places his notebook and pen on the table, before his attention catches on the man’s pen. Well, not the pen per say, but the hand that holds it. Thomas isn’t wearing his gloves. 

Thomas isn’t wearing gloves, but Alexander is. 

Something happened, and Washington has an inkling of what it might be. 

But, still, there is business to be done. So he greets everyone with his usual smile, before gesturing to Alexander. “Secretary Hamilton, I believe you’ve prepared an update for me about your Bank Bill. If you’d please, you have the floor.” 

Whatever it is that happened between Alexander and Thomas gets pushed aside, briefly, as Alexander begins to speak. His words are carefully chosen, but spoken with the burning intensity that Washington is used to. 

“I found out yesterday that several Senate Republicans have decided to try and bench the Bank Bill. As you know, sir, the bill was scheduled to be presented on the floor by Senator Schuyler as Chair of the Senate Financial Committee. The Republicans have scheduled a vote - to take place tomorrow - to bench all new committee bills until the start of the next congress. If this bill passes, my Bank Bill will be presented to the new Congress, still majority Republicans, in February.”

“Do you not have enough votes with the lame-duck Republicans to win the vote tomorrow?” Washington asks. If Alexander had enough votes to pass his Bank Bill with the lame-ducks, surely they could have a majority to make sure the bills get brought from committee. 

Alexander sighs, running his glove covered fingers through his hair, “Since the vote tomorrow is more of a procedural process than an actual bill, Pro Temp- Henry has implemented super-majority rule. It’s the opposite of the nuclear-option, sir. We need a supermajority of votes to get the bills brought forward from committee, and even with the lame-ducks we don’t have enough.”

Washington nods, trying to find some other option to bypass Henry and his ridiculous antics, “Can you not filibuster?”

Again, Alexander sighs, and he looks strung out enough that Washington wonders if he had even slept last night. Considering its Alexander he’s talking about, Washington would put money on the answer being no. 

“Even with your administration supporting this bill, it’s still considerably radical for the rest of the Democrats. This is the first time Congress has actually used the elastic clause to justify implementation of an institution this size. I’ve tried talking to some democrats, to encourage them to filibuster, but no one wants to take the chance that they put themselves out there in support of a national bank and then it gets struck down by the Supreme Court.”

This is why Washington hates politics. “But they’re willing to vote yes if it makes it to the floor?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.” Alexander says, “I think we can all agree that there’s a big difference between voting yes on a bill and actually filibustering on behalf of it.”

Greene interrupts at this point, “I agree with that, but there are other bills in the committees, right? Couldn’t they be filibustering on behalf of the other progressive bills? That’d spare them come election time.”

“And that right there is the problem,” Alexander continues, “The only other bills in Congress are Republican introduced initiatives. Anyone that filibusters this bill is going to be viewed as either a radical Democrat for bringing my bill to the floor, or a Republican. Which means the only chance I have of getting this bill brought forth is to have it done by a Republican, but like hell anyone would voluntarily filibuster. Party establishment Republicans want my Bank Bill to die on the floor, and they’d slay anyone in their party if they went against orders. Henry just got reelected. He’d make sure the press caught word of who filibustered and what happened because of the filibuster - i.e. my bank bill getting passed - and it would more than likely destroy their chances of getting reelected.”

“So you’re out of options then?” Washington asks, keeping his voice measured. 

Alexander turns to face him once more, his expression almost pleading, “I’m still working on it, sir.”

“The vote’s tomorrow?”

Alexander bows his head just a little, “Yes.”

“Figure it out, Alexander. That’s an order.” His tone is unrelenting, explicit in the knowledge that Alexander doesn’t have a choice. 

Washington sees the man nod and he feels only a little guilty at the harshness of his order, but he knows that Alexander thrives because of his desire to please Washington. If he was anything less than the commanding general Alexander is used to, the man would turn his anger on Washington instead of where it was needed: congress. He needed Alexander’s complete focus on getting this bill passed, and then Washington could give him the praise he so badly wanted. 

“Next item on the agenda then. Lee, you have some new reelection images that you were wanting to get opinions on?”

“Yes sir.” Lee stands and nods, as he hands a stack of papers to his left, “Please pass these around. Now, this is the new image for the re-election. This will be on the official White House website as well as used in all ads that are produced for the administration.”

He watches as Thomas slides the papers across the table to Alexander, who takes one and passes the rest to Greene. 

Lee walks around the table to place a paper in front of Washington and he has to keep his face very collected when he looks at it. It’s not terrible, per say, the image Lee has chosen of Washington looks very professional but not completely closed off. The logo too isn’t terrible and might be able to be salvaged. The only problem, however, is the background. It is solid red, an entire block of colour, and is so off putting that Washington knows, without a doubt, that a mistake like this will cost him the election.

“A solid red background that takes up half the page, seriously Lee, are you trying to cost us the election?” Alexander barks, sarcasm and annoyance evident in the sour tone of his voice. 

Washington breathes a sigh of relief, grateful that his Secretary had spoken the words exactly from Washington’s own mind and pointed out the glaringly obnoxious colour that would- wait.

The colour. Alexander had said red. 

But Alexander hadn’t met his soulmate yet. 

He looks up from the paper in front of him, and finds Alexander’s gaze trained on Thomas. Unlike Alexander’s previously nervous expression, now he looks almost mocking. He’s staring at Thomas, eyebrow arched, and a pointed look on his face. 

Washington’s eyebrows furrow and he looks back at Thomas, who is rubbing subtly at his hands. His gloveless hands. The hands that had just touched the paper that Alexander is holding between his own glove covered hands. 

Oh, Washington thinks. And then, as the realization finally clicks,  _ oh _ . 

That would, well that would actually explain a lot. 

But before Washington can say anything, Alexander continues, demolishing Lee’s efforts with his words alone, and Washington sits back in his chair. 

So they’re soulmates then. But that doesn’t explain the hurt or the crying or the misery. If anything, he was expecting them to finally work out some of the ridiculous tension that he’s felt since the first time they shook hands. There must be more to the story. 

Washington is, once again, relieved that he thought far enough ahead to schedule his meeting after this. If there’s one person that can give him answers, it’ll be Lafayette. 

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly, although Washington gets the distinct feeling that everyone is holding their breath. The tension between Alexander and Thomas only seems to grow the longer they aren’t distracted by their phones. It’s only proof that they had been talking - rather unsubtly - via email during cabinet meetings before. Because, now, with both Thomas and Alexander’s entire attention on them, the rest of the cabinet members are subject to their opinions. 

After Alexander’s ten minute rant - in the middle of Knox’s presentation - about the distinct lack of a certain Vice President, Washington simply dismisses them all from the meeting and promises that it will be rescheduled soon. There’s no point in trying to get anything done with it’s obvious that the tension between his most trusted employees is beginning to boil over into work. 

Something has to be done. 

He makes his way back to his office quickly, knowing that Lafayette will be waiting for him. Washington is proven right, as usual, when he opens his door and finds the man sitting behind the desk. Lafayette’s attention is focused on a folder in front of him, and he flips through it with ease, as if he is not violating the privacy of the most important man in America. 

“You know, that desk is usually reserved for the President alone.” Washington greets him, his tone faux disappointed. 

He sees the curve of Lafayette’s smile as he glances up from the papers in front of him, tilting his head a little when he sees Washington, “You’ll have to forgive me, Your Excellency, you see I am French. I still have yet to learn your American customs.”

Washington raises an eyebrow in response, “Would you dare sit at the King of France’s desk?”

Lafayette scoffs, “First, France has a King no longer, my dear President. Second, would you dare compare yourself to a monarch?”

“I suppose you’re right,” He says as he rounds the desk, until he is just in front of Lafayette - who has swiveled in his chair to face him, and smiles, “It’s good to see you,  _ Gilbert _ . It’s been too long, my friend.”

The pleased expression on Lafayette’s face is well worth the hours Washington has spent trying to perfect the pronunciation of the man’s first name. 

“You’ve been practicing your French, I see.” Lafayette says with a grin, “Not perfect, but far better than when you first greeted me. I appreciate the effort you put forth, sir.”

“You’ve done remarkable things for this country, my friend. It, and I, owe you for the sacrifices you’ve made. The very least I can do is learn how to say my dear friend’s name correctly.”

“You owe me nothing, sir. It was an honour to serve your country and to serve you.” And then Lafayette rises from the chair to pull Washington into a tight hug, kissing both of his cheeks before releasing him. 

It was long ago when the display of affection, the French greeting, had caused Washington great distress. But he’s come to appreciate, to love even, the greeting as he loves his Lafayette: completely and without question. 

“I have missed you so, my dearest President.” Lafayette says, walking past Washington and claiming a chair on the other side of the desk.

Washington takes his own seat, closing the folder that Lafayette had been browsing, before turning his attention back to his friend. 

“I suppose you must be wondering why I asked you to meet with me.” Washington says, trailing off to let Lafayette answer the unspoken question. 

Lafayette grins at him, “As much as I wish it was solely because you missed my company, as I have missed yours, I thought there might be another reason you needed to see me.”

“There is another reason, but please do not take it as me not wanting or missing your company,” Washington says, trying to keep his voice earnest. 

He is always closed off and professional with everyone. Even with Martha, his dearest Martha, there are things he cannot speak of. There are horrors that she cannot begin to imagine. But things are different with Lafayette. Since the war, this man has been his closest confidant. There was nothing that Washington feels he can’t talk to the man about, nothing that he thinks Lafayette wouldn’t understand. 

“Do not fret, sir.” Lafayette says leaning forward to rest his hand alongside Washington’s, which sits outstretched on the desk, “I know you are a busy man. Now, please, tell me what worries you have, and your  _ Gilbert _ will do what he can to soothe your fear.”

Washington looks down at their hands, barely brushing together on top of the table, before he looks back at Lafayette and continues, “I’m concerned about Alexander.”

He watches as Lafayette presses his lips into a thin line and nods his head, “Has he, uh, has he done anything in particular that brought this concern upon you?”

“I found him crying in Thomas Jefferson’s office, and then he took the rest of the week off,” Washington says, and then - because it’s vital - adds, “Voluntarily.”

“Ah, yes, that would be concerning.”

“They’re soulmates, aren’t there?”

Lafayette’s eyebrows almost jump off his forehead in surprise, “Alexander has told you?”

Washington shakes his head, feels Lafayette’s fingers brush against his own, “No, of course he hasn’t, but it’s become quite evident to me. There are too many coincidences for me to pretend otherwise.”

“They are soulmates, yes.” Lafayette says with another nod, “Alexander has convinced himself that our dear Thomas could never love him. Although I have more than enough reason to believe that his worry is simply a result of his own overthinking and trust issues.”

Washington chews on his lip, considering, “I just don’t understand why this has all come to light now. What happened that left them at such odds?”

Lafayette sends a knowing look in his direction, “Well, would you prefer the long story or the short story?”

Washington’s finger brushes against Lafayette’s wrist when he replies, “Whichever one you want to tell me,  _ Gilbert _ .”

“I suppose it starts with Eliza,” Lafayette begins, and then - just like he said - proceeds to tell Washington the story. 

And what a story it is. 

Love, loss, hate, hope, longing, secrets, and betrayal. 

At the end, he supposes he can understand why the men have been so thoroughly off their game recently. But, from the way Lafayette explains it, it sounds like they’re both completely infatuated with the other. 

Washington will draw this one up to miscommunication then. 

“So, in short, Alexander loves Thomas but thinks Thomas doesn’t love him. He has forbidden me from getting involved. And, on my last lunch date with James Madison, he told me that Thomas is in love with Alexander but thinks Alex doesn’t love him either.”

Washington looks up in surprise from where he had been staring at their hands, “You’ve spoken to Madison about this?”

“Yes, of course, you must understand how painful it was to watch them pinning after each other from afar. James reached out to me after the Senate Gala and we agreed to get lunch. He referred to it as a ‘wine, cheese, and complain about things’ club, although we mostly talked about Alex and Thomas. We were going to intervene on their behalf, but decided it was best to just let fate take the reigns. That was until they’ve decided to ignore all the signs and make themselves miserable.”

“Well something must be done, son, this spat of theirs is beginning to interfere with work and I will not have this country fail because of perceived unrequited love.” Washington says, “What can we do? Lock them in a closet, perhaps?”

Lafayette actually laughs at that, squeezes at Washington’s hand with his own, “This is not Wattpad, my dear President.”

Washington tilts his head, feels Lafayette’s palm pressed warm against his own, “Wattpad?”

“It is not of importance, I assure you. However, it is important than we approach the subject with a measured subtly, lest we scare them off.”

Washington closes his fingers around Lafayette’s, “What do you propose then?”

“James has told me it is all taken care of. I propose that we wait patiently and let the man work his magic. From what he’s told me, Thomas was actually the one that gave James the idea in the first place - albeit unknowingly. I suggest that you and I simply wait and see what happens, and then intervene if necessary.”

Washington agrees, although - he thinks - there isn’t much that Lafayette could suggest that he wouldn’t agree to. “I suppose we have a plan then.”

Lafayette’s smile is wide as he leans further across the desk, “Excellent, now please tell me how Mount Vernon is. How is Lady Washington and how are the pups?”

“Martha is well. As for the pups,” He reluctantly untangles his hand from Lafayette’s to pull a photo from the bottom draw of his desk. He passes it to the other man, watches the smile widen on his lips, “This is Sweet-Lips and Madame Moose.”

“They’re so much bigger than the last time I visited.” Lafayette says, his gaze stuck on the picture of Washington’s two favourite dogs, “I must come see them again soon. I’m afraid it’s been too long.”

He looks at the smile on Lafayette’s lips, at the way his eyelashes fan out along his cheekbones, and Washington takes a deep breath, “Of course,  _ Gilbert _ . You know you’re always welcome.”

Lafayette looks up from the photo, his dark eyes shining and his smile bright, and Washington’s heart feels heavy in his chest. 

Yes, he thinks, Lafayette will always be welcome. 

Always. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things  
\- you can be in love with your soulmate but also in love with someone else. It works, just saying.  
\- Washington's relationship with Lafayette was actually kind of wholesome and I get sad just thinking about it. [Here](https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/george-washington-and-the-marquis-de-lafayette/) is where you can read a bit about it.  
\- Washington actually did have dogs named Sweet Lips and Madame Moose. [Here](https://www.mountvernon.org/george-washington/facts/washington-stories/soldier-statesman-dog-lover-george-washingtons-pups/) are some more dogs he had (all very interestingly named). Weird guy.  
\- Hints for next chapter: politics! James Madison! a realization that Alexander's life isn't the only one that's shit!


	25. an introduction to APUSH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insert James Madison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow! we're so close now everyone. 
> 
> Also, just so you know, the rules of the Senate in this fic are inspired by the real life modern day rules of the Senate, but I took some creative liberties when it came to this fic, because plot. 
> 
> Let me know what you think?
> 
> (also thank you, as always, for the lovely comments. They fuel my motivation to write.)

Thomas is no longer wearing his gloves. 

Alexander had literally stopped in his track when he saw the man lingering in the breakroom, sans gloves. And then the cabinet meeting happened. Alexander can safely say that he has never been in such an awkward situation before, and he had to have dinner with his ex-fiance and best friend - who happened to be soulmates - before, so he knows awkward situations like the back of his hand. 

It’s fine, totally fine. Alexander doesn’t care that he stopped wearing his gloves. It doesn’t mean anything, and it in no way concerns him. 

Except that Alex does care, it does mean something, and it in every way concerns him. 

He wants to look into it. He wants to try and figure out exactly why Thomas decided, now, to stop wearing his gloves. It’s obvious that the secret is out, Alexander knows they’re soulmates, but Thomas had been wearing them when he returned from Virginia. So, he wonders, what happened between Monday and Tuesday that made him change his mind?

Alexander stops his train of thought before he can become obsessed with trying to figure out why Thomas does what he does. It could mean a million things, but Alexander doesn’t have time to think about any of them. He has a bill to save. 

He reopens his laptop, looking at the latest email from Senator Schuyler. 

**From: phschuyler@senate.gov** **  
** **To: aham@exect.gov**

**Secretary Hamilton, ** **  
** **It is my sincere regret that I will not be present at the procedural vote tomorrow. Having spoken to my aides, we are in agreement that there isn’t any Senate rule, besides the filibuster, that we can use to postpone the vote. Angelica is continuously looking into it and will keep us both updated. I wish you the best of luck. **

**Your Obedient Servant, ** **  
** **Phillip Schulyler**

He doesn’t know what else he can do. Every single Democrat he’s spoken to refuses to filibuster, and none of the lame-duck Republicans will do it either. There’s no way he can stop the vote from reaching the floor, which means there’s no way he can keep his bill from dying in committee. 

He’s fucked. 

The clock reads a few minutes after two o’clock in the morning, and anxiety weighs heavy in his stomach. Alexander feels actually nauseous at the idea of his bill - of months of hard work and compromise - being shoved back into committees where it will never even reach the Senate floor. And there’s nothing he can do. 

He closes his eyes, finger running over the bridge of his nose, and works through every conceivable option there is. 

He can either find someway to not get the procedural rule to a vote, he can get enough votes to bring the bills from committee, or he can stall the vote itself. 

Philip says there’s no way to reverse a procedural bill like this, which means the first option is off the table. Whether he likes it or not, the Senate is voting tomorrow. 

Which brings him to the next option, getting enough votes. But, with the procedural rule, he needs a super-majority of Senators. Even with the eight lame-duck Republicans voting on his behalf, he only has fifty-three votes - fourteen votes short of a super-majority. And Alexander knows there’s no way he can get fourteen Republicans on board with his plan. He was barely able to get the six Republican votes he needed to pass his assumption bill, and that was with Thomas’s lobbying and Madison’s standing down - neither of which he has access to anymore. 

So the only option he has is to stall the vote. Even then, there’s the problem of finding someone to do it. Only Senators can filibuster or Alexander would do it himself. He can’t find a Republican to do it, and he can’t find a Democrat either. 

So, in short, Alexander is one hundred and fifty percent fucked. 

He’s got to quit his fucking job. 

It’s as he’s realizing the extent of how truly screwed he is, panic settling in his stomach, that Alexander’s phone begins to ring. He doesn’t even look at the name, just swipes his finger across the screen and holds it up to his ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Alexander, I’m glad you answered.” Angelica’s voice says on the other end. 

And Alexander is furious. He is furious at Congress, at Senator Henry, at himself. 

“Fuck Angelica, why is everyone trying to ruin my life? Are they so small minded that they don’t understand that this is a good thing for the country? That it’s a needed thing for the country? I’ve been up trying to figure something out, but I don’t know what else there is to do. Ang, I’ve thought through every option and there’s nothing left. It’s out of my hands, and I feel so-”

“Alexander, take a breath.” Angelica interrupts him, her voice calm and collected, “Take a break, everything is taken care of.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean everything is under control. So take a shower, get your shit together, and I’ll be there to pick you up at one.” She says, her words a command, “Get some sleep, Alexander.”

“But, I- what?”

“Sleep, Alexander.” She says, “Just sleep.”

And, for once, he can’t find it in himself to fight. He is exhausted, strung out on stress, and his bed calls to him. So, without an argument, he agrees. “Yes ma’am.” 

She hangs up then, abandoning Alexander with nothing but his thoughts for companionship. 

His hair is a little greasy, his skin feels unclean, and Alexander knows she’s right. So he drops his phone onto the bed and heads for the shower. 

Alexander tries to put thoughts of his bill out of his head, but he can’t. It’s there, like it always is, pounding away at the base of his skull as he rinises the shampoo from his hair. 

It’s there when he climbs out, steaming rising to the ceilings, and his head aching. 

And it’s still there as he stands at the edge of his bed, towel around his waist and hair hanging wet down his back. Alexander isn’t one to doubt Angelica, but he can’t possibly understand how she managed to pull it off. 

His phone vibrates and Alexander glimpses at the screen. 

From Angelica (3:11 AM): Go to fucking sleep. 

And, for once, he listens. 

Alexander quickly dries off, running his fingers through his hair and sliding into a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. And then, because he is probably the most pathetic person in existence, moves to his closet and pulls out the white jacket that hangs there. 

The jacket still has the lingering scent of Thomas’s cologne and Alexander stares at it, considering, for too long. And then he pulls it off the hanger, sliding his arms into the sleeves and wrapping himself in it. He climbs underneath the comforter, pulling it up to his chin, and stares up at the ceiling. 

He thinks of Thomas, of the way he looked at Alexander - the way he felt so important and cherished in his arms. He thinks of the looks, the near kisses, the closeness. His heart aches, heavy in his chest, so Alexander forces his eyes closed. He pulls the collar of Thomas’s jacket over his nose, the smell of his cologne making it feel like Thomas is there with him.

Like this, Alexander can pretend that it’s three weeks ago. He can pretend that they’re still on good terms, that Thomas is here with him again - arm curled around Alexander’s waist, and his body warm behind him. He wishes he could go back in time, to three weeks ago, and tell that Alexander to cherish the moments between them. 

But because he can’t, Alexander breathes in a deep sigh and lets sleep find him. 

When Alexander wakes that next morning, the sun is high in the sky. He glances at the clock on his bedside table, puts the time at just after eleven-thirty. 

Angelica says that the bill is taken care of, so Alexander - for once - doesn’t know what else he can do. Instead of worrying himself trying to be ahead of the game, he drops onto the couch and blearily forces his eyes to the TV. He loses interest in whatever news story Fox is covering at the moment, and turns his attention to his email. 

He’s laying there, an hour later, when there’s a sharp and persistent kicking on the door. 

Alexander makes his way to the door, dragging his feet, and pulls it open. 

Angelica is on the other side, looking as put together as always, and it makes Alex shrink into himself the slightest bit. Her long hair is tied back into a bun, makeup simple and elegant, wearing a white blazer over black dress pants and stilettos. Her gaze drops to the white jacket still slung around him and her frown grows. 

“Is that?” She raises her eyebrows, she raises her eyebrow and gestures towards the jacket. 

Alex shrugs, unable to bring himself to feel embarrassed. “So what if it is?”

“It’s a little pathetic.” Angelica says, “But drop the jacket and let’s go already. We have places to be, kid.”

He does manage to look somewhat presentable when they leave, in a decent suit with his hair pinned back in a bun. By the time they get to the Capitol building, even with Angelica sending him looks every couple of miles, Alexander is back on edge. 

They scan their badges through security, making their way to the gallery to watch the proceedings. The gallery is already filled with people, but Angelica glares at two tourists in the front row and they scurry off without so much as a word. 

Alexander rolls his eyes, but takes the seat next to her regardless. She crosses her leg over the other and Alexander turns his attention to the podium below them. 

He watches, lips curling down in displeasure, as James Madison leans back in his seat on the floor. The man checks his phone, rather unsubtly, and then stands from his chair and exits at the back of the chamber. 

Alex hasn’t heard much from Madison about this particular procedural measure, but as Majority Leader, he can only assume that the man is equally against this idea as he has been every single other idea Alexander has had since he assumed his position as Secretary of the Treasury. 

President Pro-Temp Henry bangs a gavel once, calling the chamber into order. He feels anxiety rise in his chest, once more, digging into the muscles of his chest and it feels like he’s suffocating. 

Henry greets everyone, the chamber officially called to business, and begins rambling on about something Alex can’t force himself to pay attention to. He wants to skip all this talk and get right to the main part. The part about his bill. 

He trusts Angelica entirely, has never doubted her or her ability once in his life, but Alexander knows this is politics. What if she was mistaken? What if her plan fails? What if this is some ploy cooked up by the Republicans to get Alexander to fail, and then Henry will laugh in his face, and Washington will have to fire him. 

He will disappoint himself, he will disappoint Angelica, and - the worst thing he can possibly imagine - he will disappoint Washington.

The thought of Washington, the man Alexander looks up to with a respect unparalleled by anyone ever, is too much to think about. He can imagine the look on Washington’s face, the furrow of his brow, the dark colour of his eyes and even though Washington wouldn’t say it, Alexander would know. He was disappointed. 

He cannot fail Washington. He won’t. 

“Relax, Alexander.” Angelica whispers, for what has to be the one hundredth time this day. 

Alex shuts down that part of his brain, and forces his attention back to the floor. 

“First thing on the agenda, we have a vote to leave all bills in committee in their respective committees until the start of the new Congress. I’ll remind you all that as a procedural measure and supermajority rule is in play. That’s sixty-seven votes, everyone.” Henry says. 

Alexander watches as Madison reappears, reclaiming his seat on the floor. 

“Alright then,” Henry says, “The floor is open for debate.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, there are a few hands that are raised from the floor. Alexander’s palms are starting to sweat, feeling the way his nerves are sinking into his chest. He can’t get the thought of Washington out of his head. Washington, disappointed in him, it can’t happen. 

“The floor recognizes Senator Wayles from Virginia.” Henry says and Alexander watches as Martha takes the podium near the front, facing the rest of the Senators. 

“I think we can all agree that the Senate agenda is already overflowing with bills that need to be brought forth to the floor. There are currently 238 on the agenda until the new Congress, and forty-three in committee. With the current partisan conflict in the Senate, we’re barely averaging ten bills a day. I think this is an excellent move made by Senator Henry to help alleviate a little of the workload, allowing us to spend more time on bills that need to be considered and implemented now. Thank you.” Martha says, nodding to Henry before she quietly returns to her chair. 

Alexander wants to call her a bitch, but it’s not her fault. Well, she did decide to be a Republican, so it is kind of her fault, but he’s not petty enough to debase her on that alone. 

There are several more Republicans that speak after that, each one saying the same thing. Too much on the agenda, too much to do, too much to consider. 

Eventually, no one else asks to take the floor. There is silence in the chamber as Henry glances around from his chair. Alexander’s leg starts to bounce, nerves on fire, and Angelica simply looks at him from the corner of her eye and says, “Relax.”

But he can’t. No one is saying anything, no one is fighting for the bills in committee. No one is going to be able to fix this. He doesn’t blame Angelica, people fall through on commitments all the time, but it still aches deep in his chest to know he’s going to watch the very moment that his bill fails. The moment that all his hard work fails. That he fails himself and that he fails Washington. 

And then, James Madison stands up. 

Alexander watches as he pulls his satchel over his shoulder, stepping up to the podium and taking a deep breath. He steals himself, knowing that Madison is going to put the last nail in his coffin. 

“We founded this country on the idea of representative democracy, on the idea that the power to influence government comes from the people. We founded this country on the idea of opposing beliefs, on the assumption - on the hope - that it would be difficult to pass legislation.”

Madison pauses, taking a deep breath, and then continues, “Several of my colleagues have spoken in favour of leaving the bills in committee. They have cited the Senate’s workload, the need to push more important legislation, and bipartisan difficulties in Congress. I am not my colleagues, so I am not going to stand here and cite the same reasons. Because, while all are true, the real reason they desire passing this resolution is because of a certain bill written by Secretary Hamilton, of the Treasury department.”

Alexander freezes. 

“The bill is controversial, and Republican leaders don’t want to take the chance that it gets brought to the floor and passes. While I can honestly say that I do not support the bill, nor do I wish to see it passed, I understand that backhanded politics - such as the measure suggested by Henry - goes against the fundamental ideas that Congress was founded on. And, trust me when I say this, considering I was the main writer of the Constitution.”

Alexander watches the shocked faces of the Senators on the floor, and he sees a Republican Senator approach the microphone adjacent to Madison out of the corner of his eye. 

Madison pauses again, turning to Henry who fixes him with a particular look that Alexander cannot name. 

“Senator Madison, do you yield the floor to your colleague from South Carolina?” Henry asks and Madison shakes his head. 

“No, sir, I’d like to continue talking.”

Henry’s eyes narrow, “Very well.”

“It is because I aim to uphold the ideals this government was founded on, that I cannot - in good conscience - let this resolution come to a vote.” Madison continues, bending down to pull a thick book out of his bag and sitting it on the podium in front of him. 

Henry interjects again, his eyebrows furrowed, “Senator, will you yield the floor to your colleague from South Carolina?”

He sees Madison take a deep breath, his eyes flickering over his fellow Senators, before he looks up to the gallery and makes eye contact with Alexander. He holds eye contact for a long moment before he looks back down at the podium. 

Alexander takes a breath, holding it. 

“No, sir, and in case it hasn’t become obvious yet, I’ll put it plainly for you. This is a filibuster. ” Madison says flipping through the book in front of him, “Genesis chapter one: _In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth._ _Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.”_

And Alexander releases the breath. 

Madison is filibustering. He’s  _ fucking _ filibustering, and on Alexander’s behalf. He’s shocked and he can feel the same sentiment in the static like air around them. 

Madison, a Republican that hates Alexander, is filibustering for him. 

What the actual fuck. 

“Senator Madison, will you yield the floor?” Henry interrupts again. 

Madison doesn’t even spare him a glance, just says, “No, sir.” and then continues on from where he left off. 

“Something tells me this is going to take a while.” Angelica whispers in his ear, her breath falling onto his skin, “Want to take off and grab lunch?”

And he knows this is going to take awhile, but he can’t leave. Madison is filibustering, and like hell is Alexander going to ditch right when it’s getting good. 

“Nah, I’m going to hang out and watch.”

Angelica raises an eyebrow, shooting him a look out of the corner of her eye, “You want to stick around and listen to Genesis? Didn’t know you were the religious type.”

“How he’s going, I assume he’ll get through  Leviticus. I hope he will at least, that’s my favourite one.” 

“Fine, text me if anything interesting happens.” She says, collecting her purse and making to stand. 

She shoots him a smile as she leaves, wagging her eyebrows just a little, and then disappears in a wave of perfume. Alexander turns his attention to the floor, watches as Madison flips a page, “The man said, ‘This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called ‘woman,’ for she was taken out of man.”

And then he leans back in his chair and listens. 

Madison talks for seven hours, and Alexander sits there for the entirety of it. Several Senators simply leave, and the gallery around him is mostly empty by the time the clock strikes eight in the evening. Henry looks exhausted, head resting in his hand as Madison continues reading word by word from the Old Testament. 

Alexander has to give him credit where it’s deserved. He knows Madison’s health isn’t the best and for him to stand on the floor for seven hours and talk is quite impressive. 

Eventually, Henry adjusts his microphone and speaks quietly into it,  “I motion that the Senate votes on this procedural resolution tomorrow.”

Madison doesn’t even look up from the book in front of him, ““With all due respect, sir, I will filibuster every single day until the new congress is inaugurated if that’s what it takes. I will stand here, making my way through the Bible every single day. So either drop the motion, or prepare for the next chapter.”

Alexander sees Henry roll his eyes, “Fine, I motion that the procedural resolution is tabled for the time being, if it gets you to shut up and yield the floor.”

Madison has a half sort of smile on his face, “Consider the floor yielded, sir.”

Alexander is out of his seat before Henry can even bang the gavel. He watches as Madison collects his things and then turns, taking the stairs two at a time to get to Madison’s office before the man can head home for the day. He’s probably tired from talking for so long, but Alexander has questions. 

He wades through the press, finally making it to the private sector of the Capitol building, and finds Madison’s office with ease. He pushes open the door without thought, praying that Madison has beat him back and he won’t have to wait an hour for him to return. 

He steps inside and finds Madison sitting at his desk. 

“Why the fuck would you do that?” 

Madison looks up from his desk, dark grey circles beneath his eyes, and sighs, “Secretary Hamilton, how can I help you?”

Alexander can sense the dismissal in his voice but continues on. Madison filibustered for him, Madison went against his own party for him. And Alexander is going to find out why. 

“You filibustered for me.” Alex says, “Why in the fuck would you do that?”

Madison scoffs, “Do you really think it was my idea, Alexander? Because it sure as hell wasn’t. Thomas found out Monday night that Henry was planning on pushing the bills back in committee and asked me to intervene. I'm the majority leader, Henry wouldn’t dare go against me, so I was the only person who could do it and not lose my next election.”

Thomas. 

Thomas asked Madison to intervene?

“What? Why would he ask you to do that?” Alexander asks slowly, trying to find the words to express what he’s feeling. Thomas wouldn’t - he wouldn’t do that. He was against this bill more than anyone else Alexander knew - more than Henry himself - so why wouldn’t he champion against Alex to have it die in committee?

Madison, honest to God, rolls his eyes. He’s looking at Alexander with a mix of annoyance and disbelif, “Are you purposely fucking with his feelings or are you just dumber than I thought?”

His face feels hot, confusion swimming through every molecule of his body, and he just doesn’t understand. “What are you talking about?”

Madison stares at him, face scrunched up in a way that makes him look ages older, and then he shakes his head, “Forget it, Thomas deserves better. He deserves someone that actually gives a damn about him.”

Alex feels his shackles rise and he’s back on the defensive, “Don’t you dare say I don’t care about him. I get that you have some weird obsession with him, but he’s my soulmate -  _ mine _ not yours - and I love him. So don’t you fucking dare imply otherwise.”

Why are you telling me this? I’m not the one that wants to hear it.”

“Thomas doesn’t want to hear it either,” Alexander says, even as he feels that every present pain in his chest, “He made it quite clear that he wasn’t interested.”

“Why the hell do you think that?” Madison’s words are sharp. 

“He lied to me, James. He lied to me for months, not telling me that we were soulmates. How am I supposed to take that as anything other than a dismissal?”

Madison opens his mouth to respond, but then stops short, “What? You know about Peter. Thomas told me that you knew about Peter?”

His brow furrows, “Who the fuck is Peter?”

“His brother? Thomas said you knew about what happened to Peter’s ex-girlfriend. How her soulmate killed her and then himself? You know why he’s so fucked up about soulmates.”

His brother? The friend was his brother? Fuck Thomas didn’t tell him that part. 

“But he- he lied to me.”

“Stop for a second and think about this from his perspective for a moment. You love him, right? Isn’t this the least you can do?” Madison pushes, “I get that it was hard for you, but do you know how hard it was for him? Do you know what it was like for Thomas? For as long as I’ve known him, and I’ve known him for years, Thomas has been careful. He never touched anything without his gloves, never even touched his own clothes. He was petrified, scared to death, that he’d meet his soulmate.”

“Madison-”

“Let me finish. He wanted, so badly, to give you colour. He was so scared that you would find out, that you’d realize you were soulmates, and that you’d feel obliged to be with him. So he kept it from you. He wanted to tell you, but he was scared. Isn’t that something you, of all people, can understand?”

And that’s when he remembers a conversation, at the very beginning of his friendship with Thomas, so very long ago.

_ “Isn’t that a complicated question. So basically, I’ve seen a couple different colours, but it's only ever the most random things. Like a doorknob once, and a picture frame, and a pen I found in the lobby. I guess I’m just worried that they know I’m their soulmate, and that they don’t want me.” _

_ Thomas looked down at the desk, his lips pursed together. After a long moment, he looked back up at Alexander, and in a very soft voice, said, “Maybe that’s what your soulmate is afraid of too.” _

He can feel pressure building behind his eyes, because as much as he wants to believe it, he can’t. Because he can’t help but think of the cold looks, the dismissive tone, the hurt in his chest. 

“I, I don’t even-”

“You don’t have to tell me anything.” Madison interrupts him, “You don’t even have to decide right now, but you need to hurry up, get your shit together, and find out what you want. Because you won’t have forever.”

It sounds ominous, and Alexander can feel the warning in it, “What do you mean by that?”

Madison hesitates, looking down at his desk, and then glances back up at Alex. “This isn’t common knowledge, and I know you shouldn’t be one of the people to hear about it yet, but do right by me for once in your life and keep this to yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” Alexander presses, feels the beginnings of doubt creeping into his chest. 

“Thomas is resigning.” Madison says, his voice almost emotionless, “He’s stepping down and going back to France to help with their revolution.”

“No.” Alexander says, simply and automatically, barely able to hear himself think over the pounding in his ears. He had thought that the world came crashing down back in Thomas’s office two weeks ago. He had thought that was the worst possible moment of his life. 

But he was wrong. 

Because even if Thomas dismissed him, dismissed whatever was between them, he would still be here. Alexander would still be able to see him, they might even be able to be friends again - eventually. 

But if Thomas left then that was it. He would be alone, again. 

“No, he can’t leave.” Alexander says, mostly to himself, “He can’t leave me.”

Madison is looking at him, something warm in his eyes, and he stands from the desk to round closer to Alexander. He hesitates for a second, before reaching out and placing his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. 

“If that’s how you really feel, then stop hurting him, stop hurting yourself, and ask him to stay.”

He looks up into Madison’s eyes, dark like charcoal, “Would he?”

There’s a small smile on Madison’s face as his hand squeezes, just a little, on Alexander’s shoulder, “There’s only one way to find out.”

And, for the first time in a long time, Alexander realizes what he has to do. 

John was right. 

Fuck it. Fuck the pinning and the miscommunication and the wondering. Fuck it all. Alexander needs answers, and this time, he isn’t taking them from anyone except for Thomas himself. 

It’s late, the clock closing in on nine PM, but he can only pray to God or the universe that Thomas is still at the office. 

He makes it back to the White House in record time, flashes his ID to security, and takes the stairs two at a time until he gets to the third floor. He doesn’t even stop to catch his breath, just rounds the corner - blood rushing in his ears - until he stops in front of Thomas’s office. There is, thankfully, still light shining from under the door. 

Alexander needs to do this. He needs answers. He needs to convince Thomas to stay. 

He raises his hand and knocks twice on the wooden door. 

“Come in,” Thomas’s voice greets him. 

Alexander takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. Thomas is there, sitting behind his desk, and the office is alight with colour around him. 

He doesn’t look up as Alexander steps inside, so he quietly pushes the door closed behind him. 

“Thomas,” Alexander says, feels the pounding of his heart in his chest, “We should talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things  
\- fun fact, Aaron Burr accidentally created the filibuster when he was resigning as Vice President after killing Alexander Hamilton. Read about the history of the filibuster [here](https://constitutioncenter.org/blog/is-aaron-burr-really-the-father-of-the-filibuster).   
\- It's true that more often than not, Senators actually don't talk the entire time, but drama, you know.  
\- more general info on the rules and procedure of the Senate can be found [here](https://www.senate.gov/reference/reference_index_subjects/Rules_and_Procedure_vrd.htm)  
\- we're so damn close, I can taste it  
\- say hello on my [Tumblr](https://writtenrevolution.tumblr.com).   
\- hints for next chapter: a chat, gloves, and the most beautiful shade of brown.


	26. the moment you've been waiting for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize its been forever since I updated and I'm so sorry!! Life has been hectic and I cannot seem to be satisfied with this chapter. Alas, I decided to just suck it up and post so y'all wouldn't die from anticipation. 
> 
> It's not perfect, I'm not even sure if I like it, but it's finished. Maybe it's my own self doubt but im very very worried this chapter isn't the pay off that we've been building up to. Idk writers block is a bitch. 
> 
> (that being said, it's not all cupcakes and rainbows. most of the angst is over, but these boys still have a lot of communicating to do. so, healthy relationships next chapter!)

The man doesn’t even look up from the desk. Alexander can see the way his jaw tightens a little, most likely an instinctual sign of Thomas readying to fight, and the man’s fingers curl on the paper he’s holding. 

When it becomes clear that Thomas is not going to respond, Alex takes a step forward. His hands are by his sides, the definition of a defeated pose, and he can feel the tendrils of desperation building up in his chest. Because Thomas is right there. He’s not even five feet in front of Alexander, and yet he doesn’t know what to say, what to do to make this better. 

So, he settles on the most pressing thing he can think of. 

“You’re leaving.”

“Who told you that?” Thomas asks, his voice low as he flips the paper he’s looking at and continues to read the back. 

“James Madison did.” Alexander says, “Right after he filibustered for me, because you asked him to.”

He sees the other man’s motions pause for a moment, Thomas’s tongue coming out for a split second to drag against his bottom lip. Still, he doesn’t look up at Alexander, just blinks twice and then picks up a red pen and starts writing notes on the paper in front of him. 

“It’s not common knowledge yet,” Thomas says quietly, “So I’d appreciate it if you could keep this to yourself until I tell Washington.”

There’s not much of Alexander’s heart that isn’t broken, but he can feel the last piece break right then in that moment. “So it’s true then. You’re actually leaving?”

Thomas doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even dignify Alexander by looking at him, and it fucking hurts. Because they’ve fallen so far - all the progress that they’ve made, all the moments they had - and this is what Alexander has to remember it by?

Thomas is going to leave, he’s going to leave Alex, and all Alexander is going to get is a five minute conversation where Thomas doesn’t even look at him?

No, he thinks. He’s done all of this to keep Thomas in his life. It’s why he never mentioned his feelings, it’s why he went out with John André, it’s why he started wearing the gloves. Everything he has done has been to keep Thomas in his life, to keep their friendship intact. 

But Thomas is leaving, so Alexander has failed. 

He either doesn’t tell Thomas and the man leaves, or he tells Thomas and the man leaves. It’s a lose-lose situation, and Alexander’s out of options. 

But he can’t let Thomas leave without knowing the whole story, he refuses to do it. He doesn’t care anymore if Thomas is going to be disgusted, if he’s going to be pissed, because anything is better than this. 

Anything. 

“Thomas,” He says, and his voice cracks. 

That is what gets the other man’s attention. He looks up from his desk, dark eyes finding Alexander’s, but still he says nothing. 

Alexander takes another step closer, “I miss you, Thomas. I miss us.”

Thomas leans back in his chair, his eyes not moving from Alexander, “What do you want me to say to that?”

And there’s a million things Alexander wants him to say. He wants to hear Thomas say he misses him too, that he loves him, that he’s sorry things between them went to shit, that he’s sorry for lying. He wants Thomas to say that he’s not leaving, at least not because of Alexander. 

But Alex isn’t going to let his hopes get that high. James had implied that Thomas felt the same way, but Alexander can’t assume he’s right. Thomas had lied to him, had moved away from his touch, and Alexander can only read so far into every other moment they had before that. 

It’s a lose-lose situation, and if Alexander is going to burn this bridge, he’s going to make sure there’s no remaining confusion about which side he’s standing on. 

“You don’t have to say anything.” Alexander says, forcing himself to keep eye contact with Thomas, “But I have a lot to say, and you’re going to listen to it. You lied to me, Thomas. The least you can do is hear me out before you pack up your life and move five-thousand miles away.”

Thomas doesn’t say anything in response to that, just keeps his eyes focused on Alexander. It only drives the anger, the frustration, that’s been brewing in his chest for the past week. 

“I’m sorry.” Alexander begins, “I’m sorry that I got mad at you, and I’m sorry that I blew up on you, but you have to understand that I was overwhelmed. It was a lot to find out at one time and I overreacted a little, and I’m sorry. That being said, I’m not going to be the only person that takes responsibility for this. I get why you did it, Madison told me about Peter, but you don’t get to pawn this all off on me. We both did things that we shouldn’t have, and I’m accepting responsibility for the role I played in this.”

Thomas is looking at him like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and there is finally - finally - a spark of emotion in his eyes before he says, “What? Are you actually kidding me right now. You don’t need to apologize, I don’t want an apology, because you did nothing wrong. I was the one that lied to you, you get that?  _ I’m _ the one that’s sorry, not you.”

And Alexander is dumbfounded. He’s here, trying and apologizing, and Thomas somehow manages to undermine his words? It’s ridiculous, absolutely absurd, and he feels white hot irritation brewing in his chest, “Are  _ you _ fucking kidding me? Obviously I did something wrong considering you’ve been avoiding me like the plague for the past two weeks. And I’m well aware that you lied to me. What? You think I somehow managed to forget that?”

“You’re twisting my words,” Thomas says, his voice somehow managing to be calm and cool and collected and it only serves to make Alexander more mad. 

All the emotions he’s buried for the past two weeks are rising in his chest, his blood pumping fast through his veins, and he’s ready for a fight. He’s ready to stamp his foot and spit words and blow things entirely out of proportion because, for the first time since everything has gone to shit, he’s finally gotten Thomas’s attention and he is  _ furious _ . 

“Why can’t we both be in the wrong? Why can’t we both just be sorry and leave it at that? God, I’m so fucking pissed at you. Do you have any idea what it was like for me to find out that you were my soulmate? Did you ever stop to think about what that would be like for me? Or were you only concerned about yourself.”

Thomas’s eyes are sharp, “You know why I kept it from you.”

“Welcome to the real world Thomas, where we all have shit that messed us up. Having a backstory doesn’t absolve me of any wrongdoing, and it sure has hell doesn’t absolve you either. I should have told you, just like you should have told me.”

He can see the moment in which Thomas’s entire body freezes, “Told me what?”

But, like always, Alexander keeps steamrolling on. 

“I promised myself the day after I called off my engagement to Eliza that I would never get involved with someone that wasn’t my soulmate ever again. I wasn’t going to set myself up for that heartbreak, because I knew first hand how much it sucked to get your heart ripped out by someone that you loved, someone that you trusted. I clung to that promise everytime you smiled at me and everytime you called me those stupid fucking pet names. I kept reminding myself how bad it hurt when she left me, of how I never wanted to go through that again. And even after all that, I was ready to break that promise - to give up my perfect fantasy of my soulmate - for you.”

“Alexander-”

“And I kept thinking that I was reading too much into it. So I tried to push it away, tried to push it deep down inside. I thought I could go out with John André and forget about everything, forget about you. I was ready to do whatever it took to keep you in my life, even as a friend, and it doesn’t even matter anymore. Because you’re leaving and I don’t know how to make you stay."

He sucks in a deep breath, his brain almost mush with the need to just pour out everything he needs to say at once, “And I need to make one thing clear. If I- If I asked you to stay, I’m not asking for anything you haven’t already given me. We don’t have to do anything, to be anything, then we were before. I know you don’t want to, well, be  _ involved,  _ so I’m not asking for that. I know my very existence reminds you of our situation, but I’m trying my best here. I want to be your friend again, Thomas. You know, I’ll keep wearing the gloves for you, if that’s what it takes, I’ll-”

“For me?” Thomas interrupts with a scoff and his words sound bitter, “How exactly do you reckon that you’re wearing them for me?”

“Do you think I want to be wearing them? I’m trying not to remind you that you got saddled with someone you don’t want for a soulmate, Thomas.” Alexander continues to ramble, the words coming faster and faster as his speed picks up. There are tears beginning to sting behind his eyes because he cannot bear the thought of Thomas not being here anymore, “And I’m not asking for promises or for things to be the way they were before, because I know we can’t go back to that. But I’m here, and I’m asking for you not to leave. Please don’t leave, Thomas, please don’t leave me.”

He feels the first drop of a tear against his cheek and it burns in a way that would be humiliating if he wasn’t so enraptured by the look on Thomas’s face. The man is still sitting behind his desk, hands frozen atop the smooth brown surface, and his expression is baffled, confused, and maybe even a little sad. 

Alexander sucks in a breath, tries to hide the way he hiccups around the words that keep pushing against his throat. He has too many cards to lay them out just yet, he has to wait, has to bide his time just a little longer.

So he stares back at Thomas, ignores the way tears keep pushing at the brim of his eyes, and waits for the man to say something. 

And even after Alexander’s gone and layed almost the entirety of his heart on the line, Thomas doesn’t say anything. 

He’s staring at Alexander, eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth opens, hanging wide for a moment, before it shuts. Thomas blinks, making a move to speak again but no words leave his lips. 

Alexander deflates, lips pursed, and nods. He gets it, honestly he does, but he didn’t expect the dismissal to hurt so damn bad. 

He brings his hand to his face and wipes off the moisture present beneath his eyes and takes one last look at Thomas, still sitting behind the desk, before he turns and makes his way towards the door. 

It’s as soon as his gloved hand brushes against the metal of the door handle that he hears the squeak of Thomas’s chair, and then- 

“I love you.”

His body  _ literally _ freezes. Those words, Thomas’s words, ring in his ears and he can barely hear it over the sound of his own heartbeat. His hand is frozen, still outstretched, and Alexander can’t force himself to move. 

Thomas said he loved him. Thomas loves him. 

Finally, his hand moves from the door handle and he turns around - slowly - to face the other man. 

Thomas is out of his chair, on the other side of the desk - just steps away from Alexander - his own hand in front of him like he was reaching out to stop Alex from leaving. 

“What,” Alex says, breathless, “did you say?”

He can’t mean it. He can’t possibly mean it. 

And for the first time in literal ages, Alexander watches as the barricades Thomas has built around himself collapse into ash at his feet. Every emotion on his face is easy to read, the pain and longing and fear. He looks vulnerable, desperate, and terrified. 

“I love you.” Thomas repeats, conviction in his words, “I’m in love with you and I’m sorry that it’s taken me this long to tell you. I was waiting, hoping, that you would fall in love with me first, before you knew we were soulmates, and then I’d know for sure that you loved me because of who I am and not because of the soulmate fantasy in your head. I should have trusted you. I should have had faith that you wouldn’t confuse love with expectation, and I should have told you. I’m sorry that I lied to you and I’m sorry that I keep expecting more from you than I expect from myself. It’s not fair and I can give you a million excuses, but it doesn’t change that I’m sorry and it doesn’t change my feelings for you.”

Alexander stares at him and, for the first time in his life, he is speechless. He opens his mouth, trying to find something to say, but the words are not there. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to fucking think. There is nothing in his brain, absolutely nothing but shock and disbelief and a tendril of hope. 

“From what you’ve said, I want to believe that I’m not alone in my feelings. And I don’t expect you to trust me, Alexander, not yet but nothing - literally nothing - changes what I’m telling you.” Thomas says, his back straight and his eyes staring right back into Alex’s own, “What I’m trying to say is that if you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

He’s choking on a watery laugh when he replies, “What part of me begging you not to leave makes you think I don’t want you to stay?”

Thomas takes another step towards him and Alexander, once again, feels that twist of emotion in his chest. He - desperate to be near the other man - takes two more, stopping when he’s right in front of Thomas. 

“I know it’s unfair of me to ask, but I need to know if you feel the same. It’s okay if you don’t anymore, or if you never have, but I need to know. I need to hear you say it. Even if you don’t, I’ll still stay, but I’ll need some time coming to terms with you and André.”

“Thomas, there is no me and André. We’re just friends.” Alexander says, his words coming out slow because he’s still having problems grasping the idea that Thomas actually loves him back, “There is no me and André, because I love you and I want you to stay.”

He sees the corner of Thomas’s lips twitch into the beginning of a smile. And then, carefully - as if he’s trying not to scare Alexander away - Thomas reaches out and curls his hands around Alexander’s own. 

Thomas is looking down at their intertwined hands when he speaks again, “I’m sorry that I could ever make you think that I didn’t want you as a soulmate, and I’m sorry that it took me this long to tell you.”

As much as Alexander wants to stop, to just be and enjoy this moment, he can’t. Because it doesn’t feel right. 

So he gently pulls his hands away from Thomas’s and then, before the other man can say anything, he slides the gloves off his hands and lets them fall carelessly to the floor. And then, he reaches out again and tangles his fingers with Thomas’s. 

It’s the first time they’ve ever touched like this, skin to skin, and Alex thinks he can feel a zap of electricity course through his hand. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip and looks back up at Thomas, whose face is so irresistibly close. 

“If I ask you to kiss me, will you?”

Thomas reaches up with the hand that isn’t holding Alexander’s, and cups Alex’s face in a way that he’s done a million times before. But this time, the intent cannot be misinterpreted. His fingertips are warm against Alexander’s cheek, tantalizing in a way that leaves Alex pushing into it. 

“We have a lot we need to talk about.” Thomas whispers, even as he lowers his face a little closer to Alex’s. 

Alex looks up from under his eyelashes, “I know we do, but it can wait a minute, can’t it? I’ve wanted to kiss you for months now, and now that I know I’m not alone in the way I feel...”

Thomas has that fondly exasperated look in his eyes as he leans down the rest of the way, stopping short of Alexander’s mouth, his nose brushing against Alexander’s own. 

“Are you sure this is what you want? Because a kiss means colour and, for me, that means commitment.”

Alex blinks once, forcing eye contact, “I’m not saying I’m still not pissed as hell at you. Furious even that you lied to me for literal months. That was a completely shitty, inexcusable thing to do to someone you care about. But I’m in this for the long hall, so yes, I’m sure.”

He can see the flash of Thomas’s smile and it lasts only a second because then Thomas is untangling their hands and reaching up to press his hand to the other side of Alexander’s face. He tilts his head to the side just a fraction, feeling caged in a way he never knew he craved so desperately. 

And then Thomas is leaning even closer and Alexander’s eyes flutter shut just as their lips brush together. 

It’s about as chaste as a kiss can get, Alexander not wanting to push too far too fast, but then Thomas makes this tiny wounded sound in the back of throat, his hands gripping Alexander’s face just a little tighter and it sucks the air right out of his lungs and sends his hesitation into the wind. 

Alex clenches his eyes tighter, hands coming up to grip in the fabric of Thomas’s suit jacket, and then he pushes back into the kiss with a force that has Thomas taking a step back. There is desperation flooding through his veins with every pump of his heart, and he takes the literal months of pining and longing and wishing and he pours it into the kiss. He writes his love with the tight brush of his tongue against Thomas’s lip, and then Thomas is opening his mouth, his tongue coming out to run against Alexander’s and it sends a wave of want, need, must have through his body. 

Before he can do much more, Thomas breaks the kiss. He doesn’t pull away far, just rests his forehead against Alexander’s and holds him close. 

Alex keeps his eyes closed, scared as hell to open them, and focuses on the fast breaths coming from Thomas’s mouth. That kiss- that was everything that Alex has been missing with Andrè, everything he had been missing with Eliza. 

It feels like he’s fucking coming alive. 

And yet he can’t bring himself to open his eyes. Not yet. Because when he opens his eyes, he’s going to see a world in colour for the first time, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for that yet. 

He is ready for the commitment. Ready to try and actually do this with Thomas, but to see a world in colour for the first time in his life?

He hesitates. 

After a moment of standing there, just savouring the moment, Alexander finds the words, “Have you looked yet?”

“No,” Thomas’s reply is whispered against Alex’s mouth, “Is it stupid that I’m kind of terrified?”

Alexander’s smile curves of its own accord, “Absolutely not. I’m scared too. I mean, everything changes now, right? No matter what happens, things are different now. For the rest of our lives things are different. It’s only normal to be scared.”

“It’s nice to know I’m in good company.” Thomas says and even with his eyes closed, Alexander can feel the man’s smile, “I guess we should look? It’s not like we can keep our eyes shut for the rest of our lives.”

“Can I make a small request?” Alex says, hurried, before Thomas can open his eyes, “I know it sounds stupid, but I’ve always thought that the first colour I saw after I kissed my soulmate would be their eyes. Can we, well, can we look at the same time?”

“That’s not stupid at all; I’d do anything for you. On the count of three, yeah?”

Alex nods even though Thomas can’t see him, “Okay. What colour are they?”

“My eyes?” Thomas asks, “James said they were brown.”

Brown. The colour of the picture frame downstairs. 

“One.” Alexander says, conjuring up the colour from memory, feels Thomas’s hand curl closer along his face.

He thinks of the swirling shades of grey that were Thomas’s eyes, tries to imagine those colours replaced with the one from the frame. 

“Two.” Thomas says, and Alex tightens his fingers in the man’s jacket. 

Brown, he thinks. Thomas’s eyes are brown. 

“Three.” Alexander says, finally opening his eyes. 

He has seen brown before. He knew what brown looked like. 

But nothing, not a single colour in the world, could have prepared him for the intensity of Thomas’s eyes. 

Gone is the swirling greys, and in their place, is the most beautiful shade of brown he’s ever seen. 

Thomas’s eyes are a dark, rich, deep brown. The colour swirls out, different shades intermingling in a way that leaves Alex breathless. And there, nearing the pupil, the brown is so light, it looks almost gold in the reflection of the lights from above. 

Brown, he thinks, Thomas’s eyes are brown. 

And then he looks at the rest of Thomas, at his smooth dark skin, his spiraling brown curls that frame his face like a halo. Alex glances down, eyebrows pulling together as he tries - and fails - to comprehend the cacophony of colours that makes up Thomas’s suit. It’s pink, blue, orange, yellow, and a million other colours splattered across his suit jacket and pants. It’s chaotic, but Alexander isn’t surprised. In fact, he thinks he’s starting to understand just how interesting Thomas’s taste in clothing is. 

“What exactly,” He says slowly with a smile that tugs at his lips, “are you wearing?”

“It’s called fashion.” Thomas replies, his thumb brushing over the skin by Alex’s nose, “Not like I’d expect you to know anything about that.”

Alexander looks down, sees his own suit is an off green colour. He looks at his own hands, at the dark strands of hair that lay half hidden beneath Thomas’s hands. It’s weird, in a nice way, to finally see himself in colour for the first time. Weird, but not unwelcome. 

He looks back up into Thomas’s warm eyes, to the hint of a smile on his soft lips, and Alexander bats his eyelashes in a way that would be cliche if it didn’t have the exact effect he wanted, “Are you going to keep mocking me? Or are you going to kiss me again?”

Thomas doesn’t bother responding with words, just leans down the rest of the way to connect their lips - again - and when Alexander realizes that he could spend the rest of his life just kissing Thomas whenever he felt like it, it sends a wave of something hot and warm through his chest. Something a lot like love. 

Thomas’s hands leave his face, one wrapping around Alexander’s waist and the other threading through the hair at the back of his neck. His fingers scrap softly against the skin there and it makes goosebumps flush across Alexander’s arms. Alex licks at Thomas’s lips, no hesitation about deepening the kiss. Planting his arms on Thomas’s broad shoulders to give himself enough leverage to start walking them in the direction of the man’s desk. 

Thomas seems to get exactly where Alexander’s mind is going and flips them around, so it’s Alex walking backwards, and just as soon as he hits the edge of the desk, Thomas’s hands are on his thighs, lifting him easily so his ass fits perfectly on the edge. He takes that moment to run his tongue just on the inside of Alexander’s top teeth, and it should be weird or gross or some combination of both, but Alex is done pretending like Thomas could ever do anything that he wouldn’t find incredibly hot. 

Alexander runs his fingers down Thomas’s chest, stopping when he feels the cold metal of the man’s belt, and tugs at his shirt in a desperate attempt to get it untucked from his pants. It works relatively easy, and then he’s running his fingers across the taught skin of Thomas’s stomach. 

It’s as soon as he’s touching Thomas - finally fucking touching him - that the intensity of the kiss somehow increases. There’s a hand in his hair, Thomas’s teeth dig into Alexander’s bottom lip, in a way that makes his knees part automatically. Thomas fits himself perfectly in between Alexander’s legs, and then he’s pulling Alexander’s hair - again - and Alex can’t help the groan that leaves his mouth, closing his legs around Thomas’s sides in an effort to get the man as close to him as possible. 

He hasn’t been laid, hasn’t been touched, in fucking months. Alexander can’t remember the last time, thinks it was a random one night stand he went home with at Lafayette’s insistence, and he’s honestly way past pretending like he wouldn’t let Thomas take him apart on his desk this very fucking moment. He’s done pretending like he wouldn’t let Thomas bend him over right now, hand in Alex’s hair, soft praise whispered across his skin while he fell apart on Thomas’s- 

“God, look at you.” Thomas says, breaking the kiss for a moment his eyes dark as they trail over where Alexander is having a hard time remaining upright on the desk. “Look at how good you look right here, falling apart and I’ve barely even touched you yet. You look so perfect for me.”

And, honestly, Alexander doesn’t think his heart can handle this kind of talk. He’s thankful that Thomas has either picked up on Alexander’s desperate craving for praise or that he’s somehow got lucky enough that this is  _ a thing  _ for Thomas too, but his heart is beating too fast to be healthy and he’s so turned on that it actually hurts. 

“Do you want me to beg? Because if that’s what it’s going to take to get you to fucking touch me, then I’ll beg.” Alexander says, breathless, his fingers dangerously close to Thomas’s belt line. He tilts his head, looking up from under his lashes, “Please Thomas. I want you.  _ Please _ .”

And Thomas makes that same wounded sound in the back of his throat and it’s enough to make Alex think that Thomas’s kinks might line up perfectly with his own and, honestly, he owes the universe an apology at this point. And then the man tips his head forward to rest his forehead against Alexander’s shoulder, and it gives him perfect access to Thomas’s neck. He trails his finger down the sharp tendon in his neck before leaning forward and following his finger with his mouth. 

His skin is warm and perfect - just like the rest of Thomas - and when the man’s hands tighten on Alex’s hips, he can’t help how his teeth dig into that tendon on instinct. 

“Fuck,” Thomas says in his ear and Alexander feels hot all over. “We should talk first.”

And Alexander knows they need to talk, hell he’s still pretty pissed at Thomas, but the man is also like a greek god right in front of him and Alex doesn’t know if he’ll be able to think about anything besides Thomas pinning him to the first available surface if they try and talk right now. 

He groans into the man’s ear, “You remember what you said that night you got trashed and crashed at my place? You said there were so many fun things you’d do to my ass, and now that I know you mean it, I’m going to have to talk you up on that offer.’

Thomas’s hand brushes against the front of Alexander’s pants, and he tries to move closer to the touch - desperate for friction - but the hand disappears before he can get much more than the lightest touch. And then Thomas tilts his head, lips and breath soft against Alex’s ear when he speaks, “I promise we can later, but we really need to talk first.”

And it’s the knowledge that Thomas is right in front of him, already tenting his own too brightly coloured pants, but still wants to prioritize talking over fucking Alexander against the wall, that makes him deflate. Because as much as he’s dying to finally get his hands on the man, he knows this is about so much more than sex. It’s about them being soulmates, them being in love, and however the fuck they’re going to make this work. 

So he sighs softly, pulling his hands away from Thomas and unwrapping his legs from where they had been keeping the other man close. Thomas doesn’t move too far away, though, just an inch or two before he reaches up and brushes his thumb against Alexander’s lips. 

“Take a seat. You said we needed to talk, so let’s talk.” And then Thomas pulls away even further, sitting down in one of the seats in front of his desk. 

It takes Alexander a moment to get his legs moving again, but then he’s able to scoot forward off the desk. He adjusts himself less than subtley before claiming the seat next to Thomas. It’s too far away, he thinks, so he pushes his feet into the ground until the armrest of his chair bumps into Thomas’s. 

“I was trying to put some distance between us.” Thomas says, a faux disappointed look on his face, but Alex sees how his hand twitches - as if he were about to reach out for him. 

“Start talking or I’ll keep moving my chair closer.”

“You’re not dating André.” Thomas says, and Alexander doesn’t really know if it’s a question or not. He takes it as one. 

“No, I’m not dating him. Back when I thought you were dating Martha, I agreed to go out with him to try and get over how I felt about you. We kissed, twice, but it only served to remind me of how much I wanted him to be you.”

Thomas nods, deflating in his seat, “That’s good to know.” A pause, “I’m not trying to excuse what I did, but you deserve the whole story, and I know it’s probably killing you not to know.” 

Alexander only tilts his head a little and nods encouraging. 

“Madison told you about Peter, so I guess I can skip that sob story.” He begins slowly, as if unsure of himself, “I never wanted to lie to you, but I never wanted you to find out either. I never wanted to meet my soulmate, never wanted to actually like them. When we first met, you were probably the most obnoxious person I’d ever seen. I took that as the proof I needed that soulmates weren’t the give-all-be-all of life. I thought that I could push you away, ride out Washington’s administration, and then I’d never have to think about you again.”

Alexander keeps his wince from his face. He has to remind himself that he hated Thomas at the beginning first, back when they were both new to the administration. Back when they were actively fighting with one another, screaming matches in the hallway. 

Thomas slouches a little in his seat, “But then you apologized to me, after insulting my soulmate - which the irony of was not lost on me - and things changed. I saw that you could be more than the self sacrificing, annoying little shit that was too determined to get his debt plan passed than to care about anyone else. I saw that you were charming, sweet when you wanted to be, so I thought that maybe we could be friends. At that point, I was used to seeing the colours.”

“I thought I was okay with just being friends too. It worked well enough, until it didn’t.” Alexander says, resisting the urge to reach out and press his hand into Thomas’s. It’s unfair, he thinks, that he’s finally got what he wanted inches in front of him, and yet he can’t touch. 

“I knew the night that you got drunk at Rocky’s and I took you home, that just friends wasn’t an option anymore. I didn’t want to tell you we were soulmates because I didn’t want you to feel obliged to be with me, so I was going to wait until you told me you loved me first - if you ever did, I mean. And it was a shitty thing to do, because we kept having these moments. You would lean in, and I would lean in, and we were so close. It wasn’t fair of me to keep expecting you to be the one to make that decision. Especially when I was less than receptive.”

“There’s not really one moment when things changed for me. We started spending some more time together, working on the budget, and - well I guess it was the same for me - you intrigued me, and I realized we might have more in common than I thought. And I had these feelings. I couldn’t name them, not until the Gala.” Alexander says, “The Gala that I was hoping you’d ask me to go with you to.”

“I wanted to go with you.” Thomas interjects, “I wanted nothing more than to be your date, but then you said you’d go with Lafayette and it kind of felt like a rejection.”

He technically already knew that Thomas wanted to ask him, but it's still so hard for him to imagine how that night might have been different if he had kept his mouth shut for just a few more seconds. He could have been Thomas’s date. They could have been there on a date. Thomas would have danced with him all night, he could have had Thomas take him home, could have invited him upstairs, and then-

“It was that night that I realized my feelings for you were more than a crush. I didn’t know I loved you yet, but that’s when I knew I was in too deep. I thought you were dating Martha, and I was so ridiculously jealous, and then that next day - when you said that the book was blue - I became convinced that Martha was your soulmate. So John set me up with André, and he was nice and he was sweet, but he wasn’t you.”

“I still can’t believe you actually thought Martha was my soulmate. How exactly did you not realize she was married?”

Alex snorts, rolling his eyes, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of oblivious. You are too, though, so this isn’t all on me.”

Thomas’s smile is light, his eyes running the length of Alexander’s face. “We got here eventually, that’s what matters, right? Even if it took me twenty years.”

And Alexander can only wonder what the past months would have been like if he had sucked up his pride, or if Thomas had, and one of them had made a move. All those not dates could have been actually dates, all those almost kisses could have been actually kisses. It makes him a little sad to think that they’ve missed out on all of that.

But then, he realizes that they haven’t. It won’t be exactly like it was before, but it’ll be better. No doubt, no wondering, just a date. 

“Are you hungry?” Alexander asks, suddenly, trying not to think about how asking Thomas out only delays his own need to get the other man in bed. But, honestly, Thomas Jefferson putting out before an actual date would never happen. It’s better this way. 

“I could eat. Why?”

“Will you go out with me? Tonight, on an actual - official - date?” 

Thomas’s smile grows just a little as he reaches across the small space between them, intertwining his fingers with Alexander’s once more.

He feels those same sparks shoot through his palm and then Thomas leans in, pressing his lips to Alexander’s in a soft, slow, chaste kiss that makes Alex’s toes curl. 

“I would love nothing more.” Thomas says, pulling back to rest his forehead against Alex’s, “Let’s go on an actual, official date.”

Alexander squeezes his fingers over Thomas’s, and realizes that he’s never heard a better sentence in his life. 

“For what it’s worth, I wanted it to be you.” Alexander says softly, not pulling away, “I’m glad it’s you.”

“Yeah,” Thomas responds quietly, eyes dark and caring and vulnerable, “I’m glad it’s you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes  
\- Alex gets his soulmate fantasy, yay!!  
\- up next chapter: communication and annoyed friends and probably sex.  
\- be on the lookout for some one shots I'll be posting!! lots of pining and fluff :)  
\- ALSO: stay safe, wash your hands, practice social distancing. I love you and I need you safe.
> 
> UPDATE: [Here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/566257353144277142/) is Thomas's suit!


	27. an introduction to love (in all its forms)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, surprise?

Washington is exhausted. He’s got two piles of manilla folders on his desk, both of which need decisive action taken by tonight, and he’s already starting to get an aching of pain between his eyes. The lamp beside his desk is on, casting soft light across the papers that are strewn near and fair. He turns in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck, and casts his gaze to the view from his window. The city is lit up beautifully, as it always is, and the wind gently rocks the trees growing strong and tall outside his office. 

Martha is back in Mount Vernon, working on planning a fundraiser in close relations with Eliza Schuyler’s orphanage, and Washington is lonely without her. It’s gearing up to be a wonderful night, plenty of donors willing to hand over thousands of dollars if it means spending time with the President and his closest confidants. As if money alone is all it takes to make Washington take action on an issue. He has a platform, has a plan, and donations to a charity isn’t going to make him throw his morals away. He doesn’t even want to go, knows it’s going to be filled to the brim with conniving lobbyists and Senators, looking to throw their dirty money in Eliza’s direction, because they want the President’s backing when they make terrible political decisions. 

And Washington will give them his attention, he will listen to their complaints and file them away nowhere. It’s only his first time in office, and yet he is so exhausted with the political structure he’s surrounded himself with. Party divisions, party politics, each pointing the finger at the other, when the reality is: no one is really doing anything. Democrats love blaming the Republicans - and yes the Republicans really aren’t helping anything - but the Democrats, Washington’s own party, are almost just as complicit. 

He’s so tired of the fakeness, of the lying and bribing and actions done only for the camera. It is exhausting, and being President only makes it worse. Everyday he faces, speaks with, people that are only interested in portraying their own best qualities in order to get Washington’s personal favour. 

And he’s so sick of it. 

Just as he’s begun to contemplate throwing away his entire career in politics, there’s a knock on the door. Washington looks up, suspicious, because it’s late. There’s a chance it's Hamilton, coming to seek Washington’s help. It could be Jefferson too, he supposes. 

He had heard what James Madison did. How he had filibustered against his own party in order to force Hamilton’s bank bill onto the floor. Washington has no doubt in his mind that Jefferson had to have played some role in that. He can’t imagine Madison thinking it was a good idea on his own, not without some influence. 

Because it wasn’t a good idea. Well, Madison was prominent enough in the Republican party that it probably wouldn't have too much of a negative effects on his next campaign trail, but it surely wouldn't help him. Which means Jefferson had to have convinced him to filibuster - which he would have done for Hamilton. 

And a favour like that, when Jefferson is so vehemently against the bank bill himself, would be the kind of favour Hamilton couldn’t look past. If nothing else, this would get his attention. Washington can’t imagine a world in which Hamilton wouldn’t go to Jefferson after this. At the very least, to harass him with questions. 

He supposes then, that they’ll either make up finally, or Washington will find Jefferson’s resignation letter on his desk by morning. 

“Come in,” Washington says after a moment, not bothering to clean up the mess that has taken hold of his desk. It’s his desk, and he is the most powerful man in the country, he doesn’t have to clean for visitors. 

The door cracks open, and Lafayette blinks around the edge of the frame. 

Washington’s hand moves forward to sweep the papers in front of him into some semblance of order. “Lafayette, come in, how can I help you?”

Lafayette walks forward into the light, his dark blue suit jacket contrasting with his dark pink dress pants in a way that works - but shouldn’t. He walks around to the side of Washington’s desk, presses his palms into the wood, and slides onto the desk next to him. 

“I came to check on you. Peggy Schuyler said she hadn’t seen you leave yet. I should have figured you’d be cooped up in here working on…” He trails off as he flips the folder towards him and glances over the pages, “infrastructure.”

Washington leans back in his seat, putting his hands in his lap, and lets his eyes rest on Lafayette. He looks at ease, sprawled out on the desk, his smile only hindered a little by something Washington believes is concern. Lafayette’s eyes find him, and they’re questioning. 

“Yes well, Congress is planning on submitting this for Presidential approval soon, and I need to be ready to sign or veto.” He motions to the other stack of papers that sit on his desk, “It’s on the long list of things that, unfortunately, cannot wait.”

Lafayette does not look even remotely impressed by his answer. “You do know that people tend to be more productive when they’ve eaten, had adequate rest, and delegate tasks, yes?”

“Yes, I am aware but-”

“Why are you giving so much of yourself away to people that do not care about you? You work and struggle and are miserable, all for people that do not really care about you.”

“And you do?” Washington says on instinct, hating himself as soon as the words escape his mouth and Lafayette’s hurt is apparent on his face. 

He knows Lafayette cares about him. Lafayette has cared about him since the war, when he fought with Washington. Lafayette has cared about him every day since, and even if he wasn’t around - he’d still write and he’d still call. He bathed Washington in the ever present sunshine that was his personality. It was cruel for Washington to imply otherwise, especially when Lafayette has never attempted to hide the affection he holds for him. If anyone’s loyalty should be questioned, it’s Washington’s. Who, despite all his good qualities, always manages to fail when it comes to being a friend. 

Washington doesn’t know why he said it, perhaps it's the loneliness that spreads through his body with every passing second - some desperate attempt to prove to his brain that Lafayette is his friend - Lafayette cares about him - and this hasn’t been some incredibly long rouse to get Washington’s political power on his side. Which he knows is true, Lafayette has powerful friends and he would never use them to achieve his own agenda, and yet Washington is so overtly paranoid when it comes to those he cares most about. 

“I love you, Sir.” Lafayette says, grounding him with the most sincere look in his eyes, “I have never claimed otherwise. I have loved you since I met you, since I fought with you, since I watched you build a country from the ashes. And there will not be a day in which I don’t continue to love and cherish you. There is no man that I have ever respected as much as you, and I have no desire to see that change.”

Its as close to a love confession as Washington is ever going to get from the man he ever so lovingly adores, and if Martha was here she’d roll her eyes and shoot him that knowing look of hers that she always wears when Washington mentions Lafayette by name, but Washington will not pervert Lafayette’s words. He will not read into them with the intent he, himself, holds. He will take them at face value, as he always does, and know that when he says love, Lafayette doesn’t mean it the way Washington does. 

Washington feels chastised, lectured like a child, guilty in a way he only feels around those he cares most deeply about. 

“I know you do, I’m sorry. You’ll have to forgive me, I haven’t slept in awhile, I suppose it’s making me quite agitated. I know you care about me, and I have no reason to ever doubt that you do.”

Lafayette has this sad sort of face when he responds, “If anyone has a reason to believe the other is lying about how they feel, it would be me. You never call these days, I couldn’t tell you when I last received a letter from you, and I only see you when I come to visit you here.”

Washington makes to respond but Lafayette continues on as if he wasn’t going to interrupt. 

“But I know you are a busy man, I know how stressed you are and I know that you have things to do and places you must go, so I do not allow myself to see your distance as decreasing adoration. I will not let my brain dissuade or convince me that you have stopped caring about me, and I will not believe such things until I hear it from your lips.”

Finally, Washington gains enough courage to reach out and rest his hand on Lafayette’s thigh. It’s nothing perverse or inappropriate, nothing he wouldn’t do in front of Martha or their priest, and yet his hand feels as though lightning has shot through it. 

“I promise you now, you’ll never hear those words from me.” Washington says it, and he means it. Without Lafayette, he is nothing. He would rather cling tight to Lafayette, his Iqarus, and burn up into the sun than to never see his face again. If Lafayette is the one to ruin him, then Washington will let himself become ruins. 

“Good,” Lafayette says, reaching out to brush his fingers along Washington’s cheek, “Now I demand you lay down and rest for a little while. Perhaps when you wake up, we will have heard word about our dearest Alexander and his love life.”

Washington bergudenly, follows Lafayette to the couch that sits in the corner of his office. “Do we have reason to believe they’re speaking again?”

“Madison sent me a text and said Alex was on his way to speak to Thomas, so I can only hope.” Lafayette says as he sits down on the couch, he pats his lap and Washington can’t say no. 

Instead he simply curls up on the couch, head resting in Lafayette’s lap, and allows a little stress to fall from his shoulders. Lafayette’s hands mindlessly trail across the back of Washington’s neck, soft and so carefree, and Washington can smell the cologne his Lafayette applies. 

“Sleep George,” Lafayette says, and Washington has no room to argue. 

So he closes his eyes, and sleeps. 

/

Thomas holds his hand on the way out. They don’t run into anyone, which Alexander is mostly thankful for. It’s not like he’s ashamed of his newly found relationship with Thomas, but it’s going to take a little time to explain to whoever they run across, and Alexander doesn’t want to waste any more. He wants to get food, wants to get Thomas back to his house and into bed. He does not want to get stuck into an awkward conversation with some lower level government employee that doesn’t understand why two self proclaimed rivals are holding hands. 

Considering it’s rather late by the time they leave, the only place open is - ironically enough - Five Guys. By the time they leave the White House, the sun has long since passed below the horizon. Thomas’s hand is warm in his own, half pulling him along as they make their way towards the restaurant. For the first time in his life, Alexander isn’t rushing for words. He has nothing pressing to say, and he’s worried that he’ll somehow ruin things before it even gets good. Thomas is silent beside him too, but in a way that’s more comforting than worrisome. 

He squeezes Thomas’s hand once, looking up at him under the white street lights above them. The light shines off Thomas, casting him in an angelic type of glow, beautiful and handsome and perfect. Thomas smiles at him, a little shy and hesitant but no less stunning than any of his other smiles. He’s everything Alexander never knew he wanted or needed, tied up and wrapped with a gold bow. 

Thomas pulls the door to Five Guys open for him, ushering Alexander in with a quick tap on the lowermost part of his back. It’s a touch so thoughtless and natural that it sends sparks shooting through his skin. To think that this is his life now. Easy and simple touches, never thinking about how he doesn’t deserve this or wondering if Thomas feels the same way. Because he knows Thomas feels the same way, knows they’ve somehow been on the same page this entire time without even knowing it. 

“I’m sorry that our first date is at Five Guys.” Thomas says quietly as he enters behind Alexander, the door swinging shut after him. 

Alex gets in line behind the couple in front of them and shakes his head, “Technically, we’ve already had our first date. It was takeout at my desk when we were talking about the budget, and I threw my chopstick at you.”

“You consider that our first date?” Thomas asks, his face curious and his smile loose. 

“It was the first time that I think I actually started to see you as the man you are, not the villain I had concocted in my head. It was the first time we actually got along for longer than a few seconds. You were being ridiculous, teasing me, and it was the first time I thought we might actually make a good pair.” He looks away when he’s done talking, only a little embarrassed at having admitted it. Even if he did lay out all of his feelings no more than twenty minutes ago. 

“It was the same for me. It was nice to just be with you for a moment, to not be fighting or bitching or wanting to throw you off a bridge. It was nice.” Thomas continues, “And if we both feel that way, then I suppose this is just another date.”

“Another date then, no pressure or expectations or worry. It’s just us on another date.”

Thomas winks at him, once, before stepping up to the counter. They both order burgers and fries. Alexander gets pickles on his and Thomas rolls his eyes, and they both get water to drink. Thomas doesn’t hesitate for a second to pass his Amex black card to the cashier, who doesn’t blink twice at the subtle display of wealth. 

Alexander isn’t stupid. He knows what kind of criteria one has to meet to even qualify for the Centurion black card. Earn at least a million annually, spend a minimum of 100K a year, and have a high net worth. It’s not surprising that Thomas qualifies for one, but it's a steady reminder that - in everything except political intellect - Thomas is out of his league. It's a reminder that even though Alexander holds a government position that rivals Thomas’s, they have never been on even playing ground. Thomas was born into wealth, silver spoon up his ass from the moment he was born onto Virginia soil. Alexander had to work for everything he has. He had to crawl and punch his way out of Nevis, had to work his ass off through high school to get a full ride to Columbia, and then he had to work his ass off to keep it. And then came the war. The war where he fought, dirt and grim and blood beneath his fingernails until he worked his way to Washington. And with Washington, his full potential was noticed. 

Washington understood him. Washington guided him, mentored him, gave him the platform he needed to rise up outside the world. But even with Washington’s help, it was still Alexander that fought for the position he deserved. 

And while he was doing that, where was Thomas?

“Everything okay?” Thomas asks, and Alexander has to blink twice to clear his mind. Thomas is holding their tray of food, looking back at him expectantly. 

Alexander nods, “Yeah, of course. Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

Thomas picks a little booth to the corner of the restaurant, tucked behind the condiment station, far enough away to give them the illusion of privacy. Although, given their positions, privacy is mirrorly that: an illusion. 

Alexander takes the seat across from him, and picks his burger off the tray without comment. He unwraps it slowly, feels Thomas’s foot move against him underneath the table. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s bugging you?” Thomas asks, presses, and Alexander looks up from his sandwich. 

Thomas is looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised, waiting. He doesn’t look mad or upset, just confused. 

“There’s nothing wrong.” Alexander responds, because he knows what he’s doing. He has a history of it. The second he meets someone, the second they return his feelings, he can’t help but pick out all the different ways in which he is inadequate. Thomas is smart and handsome and rich. He’s perfect, so Alexander can’t help but wonder why in the hell the universe would pair them together. 

Before he can get too deep into his downward spiral of his own self esteem issues, he feels Thomas’s hand brush against his own. 

“Alexander,” Thomas says, and he can’t help but look into those beautiful eyes, “We’ve had enough miscommunication to last a lifetime. It’s been nothing but secret and secret, one after another. And now we’re good, now we’re okay. So if there is something that’s bothering you, please just tell me. Whatever it is, we can work through it. Okay?”

Alexander takes a moment to compose his thoughts. He should tell Thomas, there’s not really a reason to stop himself. But, on the other hand, he can only wonder if this will somehow make the gap between them bigger. He doesn’t want Thomas to think he’s that kind of boyfriend - if that’s even a word he can use . He doesn't want to be clingy, doesn’t want to push too far too fast. But he wants to tell Thomas, doesn’t want to make things worse. Doesn’t want to go back to the way things were before. 

“I just can’t help but wonder if I’m good enough for you. I mean, you’re kind of this perfect specimen, and I know I’m pretty great - and I’m not fishing for compliments or reassurances - I just have to wonder why the universe thought I was good enough for you.”

He finally looks back up at Thomas, sees the worry lines curved so deeply into his angelic face, “It’s funny that you think that, because I was thinking the same thing. I’m far from perfect, you know. I can put on a pretty good show, though.”

“You’re not perfect? Pray tell.”

Thomas’s smile twitches up just a little, “Well, I have severe social anxiety. Honestly, it’s a miracle I’ve held half the positions I have. Barely made it through college because I couldn’t speak in class, can’t speak in front of the congressional committees, can barely speak up in cabinet meetings. Sometimes my anxiety gets so bad it gives me literal migraines.” Thomas has a bittersweet sort of expression on his face for a second, “I broke my wrist jumping a fence back in Paris a couple years ago, trying rather foolishly to impress a girl, and I spent a week cooped up inside afterwards, was so embarrassed, I thought the migraine was never going to go away.”

Alex is quick to interject, “Anxiety doesn’t make you any less-”

Thomas only winks at him before continuing, “I’m kind of oblivious. I’m indecisive, I never think I deserve anything. Oh, and worst of all, I’ve been told I have a terrible taste in fashion.”

And Alexander, who was listening so closely and preparing for a horrible secret he wouldn’t be able to come back from, can’t help but bark a laugh. Thomas researches across the table, pushing between the uneaten food to grab Alexander’s hand in his own. His thumb runs soft and gentle across the back of Alex’s hand. 

“What I’m trying to say, babe, is that we’re soulmates for a reason. We’re not perfect but that doesn’t mean that we don’t work together. You fell in love with me before you even knew we were soulmates, which means you must have thought I was worth loving. And I fell in love with you, as easy as breathing, because we are good together. Yes, sometimes you make me think I’ll go insane if you don’t stop talking, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

Alexander takes a deep breath, looking up from where his hands are intermingled with Thomas’s, and glances up. Thomas’s expression is soft, open and vulnerable, handsome in a way Alexander will never quite get used to. 

“I know, you’re right. I just, kind of get caught up in my own head sometimes.”

Thomas snorts a little breath, rolling his eyes in a way that is fond and adorable, “Trust me, I know you do. We can talk more about this later, for right now you need to eat. I know you’ve probably skipped every meal today. So eat first, talk later.”

Alexander’s smiling, even though he hates Thomas telling him what to do, but he can’t deny the hunger pains that jolt in his stomach. So he keeps eye contact, shoves a french fry in his mouth, and tries not to look too deep into the way Thomas’s eyes follow the motion. 

Dinner, like every other time he’s spent it with Thomas, is amazing. They’re openly flirting, Thomas’s foot nudging against his own underneath the computer, but there’s a sense of relief too. Alex isn’t walking on eggshells, terrified that he’ll say something that will push Thomas away, instead he’s relaxed, flirty, totally and completely enraptured by Thomas. Thomas flicks salt packets at him and Alexander ducks them, laughing too loud until the angry lady behind the cash register chides them and boots them out for the night. 

They hold hands as they walk back to Thomas’s car, the city streets lighting up every step they talk. Alexander leans against Thomas, listening to the street performer up the street playing a slow, romantic song on his violin. Thomas stops, of course he stops, and throws a one hundred dollar bill into the man’s violin case. And then he turns to Alexander, holding one of his hands and pulling him into a spin. 

They dance like that, the city lights twinkling above them, for what feels like a lifetime. Alexander laughs as Thomas dances with him, wondering if this is what the gala would have been like. He doesn’t think so, because the gala was a moment when they were at their worst. It was a government party, dressed in suits and talking shop. Here, on the street, they were at their best. Stuffed with cheap fast food, dressed down and worn out from work, listening to a rendition of Behtoveen performed by a street performer that definitely deserved a place in Chicago’s Symphony. 

This was where they were meant to be. When the universe decided they were meant to be together, it wasn’t because of their close proximity or their matching job titles. It was supposed to be like this, it was supposed to be simple and easy. Alexander hates that he waited so long, and that it took them so long to get together, but he thinks that this is what fate wanted for them. 

If his first dance with Thomas is on the corner of Pennsylvania Ave and 14th, then Alexander doesn’t want it any other way. He wants it just like fate had planned. 

Alexander tucks himself against Thomas’s side, smile wide and genuine, ignoring the stares of onlookers around them. He knows they must be surprised, Thomas and he are both noteworthy figures, and everyone knows about their dislike for one another, and here they are laughing and dancing in the street. Even the violinist is throwing them glances every few seconds, but Alexander doesn’t mind. 

“I love you.” He says, loud enough that Thomas can hear it over the strings behind them. 

Thomas smiles, looking down at Alexander, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too.”

A girl that’s walking past them whips her head around as she hears the proclamation, and Alex will be surprised if this new development isn’t on the morning show, but he just tucks himself closer to Thomas, “Will you take me back to your place?”

Thomas’s held tilts, just a little, and his eyes are shining, “Of course I will.”

Alexander, pleased with himself, pulls away. He doesn’t make it two feet before there’s a sharp smack on his ass. He looks over his shoulder, in feigned offense, and sees Thomas’s ridiculously pleased self satisfied smile. 

“Sorry,” Thomas says, although his tone makes it very clear that he is not at all sorry about it, “Couldn’t help myself.” He finishes off with a wink that makes Alex’s stomach feel alight with butterflies. 

“Mmmm,” Alex says with a smirk, “I’ll remember that when we get back to your place.”

Thomas’s expression is priceless, shocked but pleased, and Alex stiffles his laugh as he begins to walk away, hearing the sound of Thomas’s hurried footsteps behind him. 

Yeah, he thinks, this is how he wanted it to go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things  
\- hi im sorry!!  
\- I did not read or edit this chapter, just so you know LMAO I just needed to get it posted.   
\- I have not watched the Hamilfilm yet, I will SOON I promise  
\- I had to reread my own story because I forgot what was happening  
\- had to include the Washette because I needed to motivate myself lol who knows what's going on with them, amirite?  
\- sexy times next chapter?? maybe idk yet  
\- come yell at me on Tumblr (writtenrevolution) for being MIA for literal months.


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